Thin Red Line
by Ridgley Warfield
Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from _MASH_ (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

* * *

It was a typical autumn day in Korea, insofar as typical days went… There were only a few wounded and no expected causalities. The mess tent was just as crowded as it typically was at lunch, and, as typical, the food was just as lousy.

Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy was lost in his Chaplain's Field Manual as he sat at one of the long tables in the mess tent, trying—as usual—to commit the entirety of it to memory. Next to him sat the camp's enamel surgeon, Captain Walt "The Painless Pole" Waldowski, D.D.S.—a good Catholic man, who saw Mulcahy as a comrade rather than just simply the chaplain. On the other side of the table, the chief anesthesiologist, Captain "Ugly" John Black, and medical captains Tommy Murrhardt and Dennis "Band-Aid" Bandini were engaged in a discussion about a recent poker game.

"Who the hell is this suave son of a bitch?" Painless asked over the lip of his coffee cup, interrupting the discussion and Dago's memorization attempt. The priest glanced up to see a jeep roll to a stop just outside the mess tent. The passenger was sharply dressed in a pressed uniform with large, mirrored aviator glasses and polished birds pinned to his lapels that glinted in the sunlight.

"Looks like some posh colonel to me," Bandini observed.

"Yeah? What's he doin' here, then?" Walt asked as he looked down the table. "Hey, Henry; you expectin' company?"

Lt. Colonel Henry Blake looked over at Painless, then followed everyone's gaze outside to where the new arrival seemed to be looking for someone in charge, his lip curled slightly in disdain. Henry practically scrambled to his feet and was out the door in seconds to greet the full-bird colonel. The company clerk, Walter "Radar" O'Reilly, sidled up next to the group of captains and the chaplain.

"What're they sayin', Radar?" Painless asked.

"That's Colonel Grayson; on special assignment from the CIA," Radar said, somehow always able to hear and sense things others could not—which is how he'd earned the nickname of Radar. Shock registered on Radar's face as he continued, "Gee, he thinks one of us might be a communist!"

"Communist?" Bandini scoffed. "One of us? Come on…"

Radar shushed the Captain as he continued to hone in on the conversation outside the tent. After a minute he looked hesitantly at the chaplain. "He wants to talk to you, Father."

Dago's brow furrowed slightly, but before he could ask Radar for more, Painless nudged him in the side. "Uh oh, Red…guess your nickname finally got back to the CIA."

"Shh…" Radar cut in again. "Here they come."

The chaplain turned his head just in time to see Henry approaching with the other colonel.

"Father Mulcahy, can I see you for a moment?"

Painless patted Mulcahy lightly on the shoulder. "Nice knowin' ya, Red. Write to us from Leavenworth, will ya?"

"Come on, Walt; cut it out." Dago muttered seriously as he stood up, pocketing his book, and backing out over the bench to face his commanding officer. "Henry?"

"This is Colonel Grayson; Colonel, our camp's chaplain, Father Mulcahy."

"Colonel," Dago greeted as he gave a small salute, trying not to focus on his own reflection staring back at him from the colonel's mirrored lenses.

Grayson regarded the priest stoically, ignoring the salute. "Colonel Blake, might I use your office to…speak with the good Father?"

"Oh, sure, of course. Whatever you need, Colonel."

"Padre," Grayson said dryly, waving his hand towards the door of the mess tent. "After you."

Mulcahy felt like an errant child being called out for punishment, or sent to the principal's office. He wondered how he might fit into Grayson's investigation and why the colonel would have asked to speak with him straight away. Part of him feared that it truly was he who was under investigation and he couldn't, for the life of him, think of anything he'd done that might have branded him a traitor or a communist.

As they made it to Henry's office, Grayson ordered all personnel to vacate the immediate vicinity, doing little to help ease Dago's concerns. The chaplain stood, watching Grayson secure the office before the colonel removed his glasses, tucking them into a shirt pocket, then took to pacing the perimeter of the room, his eyes watching Mulcahy carefully.

The silence was unnerving. "May I ask what this is—"

"_I_ will ask the questions here, Padre."

Dago swallowed, afraid to say anything more and further feeling like a scolded child.

Grayson sat on the corner of Henry's desk, still looking at the priest with a calculating expression. "John Patrick Mulcahy; Captain and Catholic Chaplain in this man's army; born March 17, 1911 in San Diego, California to Francis and Mary Mulcahy. Youngest of two sons. Am I right so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"Named after St. Patrick, are you?" Grayson asked. "The Patron Saint of Ireland."

The tone was accusatory and Dago suddenly felt defensive. "I'm of Irish decent. It's common for Irish families to name their children after saints. If that somehow makes me a communist—"

"Slow down, Padre. I'm not accusing you of anything…yet." Grayson let the word hang in the air, obviously not surprised that Dago seemed to know the purpose of his visit. "I'll be straight with you, Padre. There _is_ a traitor here and I intend to find him by any means necessary."

"With all due respect, Colonel, I believe you're mistaken. I can assure you that you will find no traitor at the 4077th. Disgruntled draftees, maybe, but no communists."

"Do you doubt the intelligence of the CIA, Padre?" Now Grayson was challenging the chaplain, rising from the desk and towering over Mulcahy forebodingly.

Dago knew better than to rise to the bait. He didn't need Radar's extrasensory perception to sense that this man was dangerous, and not to be tangled with. He shrank down slightly, but still tried to hold his ground. "Of course not, but I know these people, Colonel. I talk with them each day."

"And you hear confessions, do you not? Confessions that might reveal a dislike for democracy?" Grayson posed, pacing before the chaplain again with a cocky air.

"The confession is a sacred covenant of my profession, Colonel. I _will not_ break my vow of silence under any circumstance. When a person is confessing their sins, they speak through me to God. I am merely a vessel for salvation, my ears merely a channel for absolution."

"All you have to do is tell me whether or not someone might have said something that could be considered…unpatriotic."

"I will do no such thing," Mulcahy said resolutely. "I will tell you nothing I have heard _in_ or _out of_ confession."

Grayson advanced on Mulcahy again. At 5'11'', Dago certainly was not a short man, but he felt dwarfed next to the colonel who stood over him at a lumbering 6'5''. Grayson was a broad-chested, muscle-armed man, which also contrasted to the chaplain's willowy physique. Angry coal-colored eyes bore into the azure irises of John Mulcahy, reminding the chaplain of a cold, infinite darkness…which, Dago thought, was probably a reflection of the man's soul. "Are you protecting the culprit, Padre?"

"I'm protecting people's right to speak their minds without fear of being branded a traitor." Mulcahy said, his voice far steadier than the rest of him, which seemed to be trembling like a leaf in the breeze.

Grayson laughed humorlessly. "Don't cross me, Padre. I have ways of getting you to talk; of making you tell me everything you've ever heard from anyone in this camp. If you don't agree to cooperate…well, I'll just have to make a note in my report that you were an obstruction to this investigation, which could label you an accomplice, a sympathizer…a traitor."

Dago's ire warred with his fear and it took him several seconds to find his voice again. "Is that a threat, Colonel?"

"Oh no…" Grayson said darkly. "It's a promise."

Mulcahy felt his throat close and he swallowed hard as Grayson took a step back and perched himself on the edge of Henry's desk again.

"Think about that for a while, Padre, and get back to me. I've got other fish to fry right now."

The chaplain took the colonel's words as a dismissal and turned for the door, eager to escape.

"Oh…Padre," Grayson called nonchalantly, waiting until Mulcahy looked back at him. "Two things… One: Breathe a word of this to anyone, and you _will_ be sorry. And two…I always get what I want."

Mulcahy felt his stomach drop as the last words with spoken with near blood-lust. Grayson was looking at him carefully, knowing he'd struck gold with that one remark. The ugly grin that marred Grayson's face made Dago's skin crawl, and he fled from the office before the colonel changed his mind.

Painless and Bandini were lurking just outside the building when Mulcahy nearly steamrolled the both of them. The priest barely even noticed anyone had been in his way as he hurried along, keeping his head down and avoiding possible eye contact with anyone passing by. Painless stared after the chaplain, surprised and confused by what could have possibly upset the normally unflappable man so much.

"Gee," Bandini muttered, also surprised by Dago's flight response. "Do you suppose it is him, Painless?"

"Dago Red? A traitor?" Painless queried, trying to affix such a label to such a mild and scrupulous man. "Can't be… Maybe Grayson told him who the traitor is, though."

"Let's go ask him." Bandini offered, keen to know who in camp was a possible turncoat.

Dago was wearing a hole in the floorboards of his tent as he paced back and forth frantically, trying to ascertain what he should do. Mulcahy knew that Grayson was trying to get him to cooperate, to divulge anything and everything he might know about anyone in the camp, but what lengths would the man go to get that information? The chaplain had vowed to protect the others from Grayson's tyranny, and while Mulcahy was still certain that there were no traitors in their midst, he wondered if he would be able to withstand the storm that Grayson would rain down on him.

The knock on the door filled the chaplain with dread, as he considered that the colonel was coming to collect earlier than anticipated, but the door swung open to reveal Painless and Bandini, looking at the priest like he was privy to some great knowledge.

"What'd he say, Red?" Painless asked as he let himself in and took a seat on the chaplain's bunk.

"I—I can't talk about it, Walt."

"Sure you can. It's not like we don't know why he's here. Did he say who the traitor is?"

"I _can't_ talk about it." Dago repeated, his voice strained from anxiety.

The dentist looked at the priest strangely, as if seeing for the first time just how distressed he was. "Jesus, Red…he's really done a number on you, hasn't he? Think you should go to Henry about it?"

"I'm not sure there's anything Henry can do, Walt. I'm not sure what any of us can do."

"Well, look, if you need anything…you just let me know."

"Thanks." Dago sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "If you boys don't mind…I think I'd like to be alone for a while. I don't feel too well."

Painless and Bandini left the chaplain alone and Mulcahy laid on this bunk, pressing his fingers to his eyes as he considered his options carefully. Breaking the seal of confession was out of the question. Grayson could torture him, slander him, have him excommunicated, imprisoned or crucified, but Mulcahy would never tell that man anything he had heard from anyone in this camp. They were in a war zone, most of them against their will. People were angry and outraged by the American government, but that didn't make them traitors and Mulcahy certainly wasn't going to offer anyone up as a sacrifice to appease the colonel.

Mulcahy knew he wouldn't speak, but it didn't stop him from worrying about what Grayson was going to do to try and extract the information. He was tempted to go to Henry and ask for temporary leave until Grayson got tired of harassing people and moved on, but he wasn't going to subject someone else in the camp to the methods of a madman simply because he was feeling cowardly. He would endure Grayson's threats, but he vowed not to give in.

When dinner came, Mulcahy sat in his usual spot next to Painless, but his tray of food remained untouched. Across from him, doctors Hawkeye Pierce, Trapper John McIntyre and Duke Forrest were tucking into their food as they prepared to take on the night shift. Duke seemed to notice the priest's lack of appetite before anyone else.

"What's the matter with you, Dago Red-o?" Duke asked in his southern drawl. "Dinner's pretty good tonight and you ain't even tasted it."

"Still thinking about that Grayson character?" Painless asked.

Mulcahy nodded softly and listened as Painless filled the three doctors in on the events that occurred at lunch. He silently wondered where the conniving colonel was lurking, and hoped he didn't over hear the men talking about him, least he get the impression that Dago spilled the beans.

"Forget about it, Dago. Sounds to me like since there's a lull in the amount of casualties around here, they just want to shake things up a bit. If there is a traitor, that colonel won't need your help to find him. Hell, if it would get me out of here, I'd confess to being a traitor."

Mulcahy looked at Hawkeye as he spoke.

Hawkeye Pierce, the jester of the Double Nature, was a young man—not yet thirty—who seemed wise beyond his years, but also had the maturity level of an adolescent boy. He'd been fresh out of medical school when Uncle Sam had drafted him into the medical corps, forcing him to leave behind his wife and two young sons. Hawkeye was the type of man who either liked you or hated you, and sometimes it was hard to tell which way the pendulum was swinging. In the short time Hawkeye had been with the camp, the captain had always treated the chaplain kindly, even despite the numerous pranks he had played on Mulcahy, but he'd made it clear that Dago should keep his religion to himself. It hadn't offended the chaplain, as he was a practical man of God and understood that not everyone shared his beliefs. Instead it had endeared Hawkeye to him and the two formed a mutual respect and understanding of each other that lended itself to a unique friendship.

"I wish it were that easy."

"It is that easy, babe; you gotta let him think he doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't let him see that it's getting to you. That's how guys like that work." Hawkeye told him.

"Maybe you're right," Mulcahy conceded, trying to let his concerns melt away, but feeling them settle back down in the pit of his stomach again.

"No maybe about it," Hawkeye said, shoveling the last bite of food in his mouth. "Don't let him push you around."

Mulcahy watched the three doctors gather their trays, bidding those at the table a good evening before they headed off to start their shift. Painless looked back at the chaplain after they'd disappeared.

"He's right, you know. You can't give Grayson any ammo to use against you. Even if whatever he said bothers you—like it does—just pretend it doesn't."

Dago nodded. "You're right, of course."

"Besides, if he doesn't lay off, we'll all put a boot in his ass for you."

Mulcahy gave a slight laugh and picked up his fork, trying to eat what he could stomach of the meal before he turned in for the night. The others were right: he had to pretend he wasn't bothered. Grayson hadn't given him any _real_ threat yet, but the sheer intensity of the man was enough to make the chaplain quail. He wondered if Painless and Hawkeye would be singing a different tune if Grayson came after them instead.

He decided not to think about it all together and finished his dinner, showered, then did his nightly prayers before crawling into his bunk and succumbing to sleep.

* * *

"Attention: All personnel, incoming wounded in the compound." The loudspeaker crackled to life and Mulcahy jolted upright at the announcement, startled out of his slumber and halfway out of his skin. There was the slightest hint of light outside, which meant that it was still quite early in the morning.

Hurriedly, the chaplain changed out of his pajamas and pocketed the tools of his trade before he headed out into the compound to help wherever he was needed. There were already a line of bodies on stretchers laid out on the ground and both doctors and nurses were rushing around assessing wounds and prioritizing patients.

"Hey Dago," Hawkeye called to the priest, leaning over a boy wrapped in bloodied bandages. Mulcahy approached quickly, kneeling across from the doctor. "I think this one's for you, babe."

"Is he dead?" Mulcahy asked, unable to stop himself from pondering such a stupid question out loud as he looked at the man's dog tag to confirm his religious preference.

Hawkeye looked up at him, but spared him a sharp gibe, simply saying, "Probably for at least half an hour now."

Mulcahy nodded and pulled out his tools from his pocket, draping the stole over his neck as he prepared to administer the last rites to the dead soldier.

"Ah crap…" Hawkeye muttered. Mulcahy looked up to see Hawkeye looking at something over the priest's shoulder. "Here comes the Yankee Doodle Dodo."

Mulcahy looked back to see Colonel Grayson, clean and pressed and eyes shaded behind his aviator sunglasses stalking towards the wounded men. His focus was not on the casualties, however; it seemed to be focused on the personnel of the 4077th, and he was making a beeline straight for the chaplain.

The priest sighed and shook his head, "I guess he hasn't found his traitor yet."

"Well, he better not start asking me a million questions while I'm in surgery or I'm liable to sew his mouth shut. He was poking around the post-op ward half the night until Trapper and I bodily removed him."

The chaplain laughed softly as the surgeon hurried off to the next wounded kid, and tried to ignore Grayson as he pulled out his vial of holy oil and began to mark a cross on the fallen boy's forehead as he prayed.

"Padre," Grayson interrupted, coming to stand where Hawkeye had been just moments before. Mulcahy sighed in annoyance, but glanced up. "Did you get a chance to think about my offer?"

"You didn't exactly make an offer," Dago replied somewhat sharply. "And I'm busy at the moment, in case you didn't notice."

"He's dead; it can wait, can't it?" The colonel said blithely.

"I beg your pardon?" Mulcahy was taken aback by the colonel's apathy for the dead man lying at his feet.

"I'm on a tight schedule, Padre. Don't make me order you."

Mulcahy climbed to his feet, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Order me to do what, exactly? Abandon my duties as chaplain? Abandon these boys in their hour of need? With all due respect, Colonel, my orders come from God and He outranks you. Either make yourself useful or get the hell out of our way."

Dago couldn't see the man's eyes behind the mirrored lenses, but if the thin line of the colonel's mouth was any indication, the chaplain knew that Grayson was probably feeling murderous. He stepped around the body and wandered off the other direction without another word to the priest, and Mulcahy didn't allow himself to think of the ramifications of disobeying the colonel as he went back to completing the ritual.

* * *

By 2 o'clock that afternoon the wounded had finally stopped coming in and the last boy had been patched up and put in post-op. Mulcahy had no desire to leave the OR and face Grayson again, knowing that this time would be even less pleasant than his first two encounters, but he knew the longer he put it off, the angrier the colonel would get. He'd already threatened Mulcahy once, this time he might make good on it.

The chaplain trudged out of the OR tiredly. Though he hadn't worked near as long or near as hard as the night shift personnel, surgery was always a grueling trial for him. He wanted to sit and rest, maybe eat and then shower, but Grayson had to be dealt with and he committed himself to getting it over with.

"Padre." The colonel's voice made the chaplain jump and he turned around to see Grayson leaning against the frame of the building, flicking a Zippo lighter on and off while he waited. "If God can spare you now…"

Mulcahy's eyes narrowed but he simply nodded and followed Grayson to Henry's office, where the colonel once again dismissed all other personnel. Grayson paced the perimeter of the room not speaking, prowling like a predatory animal who was on the hunt. Mulcahy felt much too tired for the colonel's intimidation tactics to work at this point, and his irritation with the man was running his fuse shorter than normal, making him more brazen than he should have been.

"You know, if you'd just tell me who you're redbaiting, this would go much faster."

Grayson stopped in his pacing, looking more than a little annoyed but tossed a file across the desk towards the chaplain. Mulcahy picked up the file and flipped it open, nearly laughing at the black and white photo paper clipped to several documents within.

"Hawkeye?" Dago asked, stifling his laughter. "You think Hawkeye is a traitor?"

"Listen here, Padre, I'm not going to play games with you. You're about to land yourself in some very hot water. Captain Pierce is under investigation by the United States of America and I have been authorized by the President to gather intelligence by any means necessary. Now, either you and I start talking or I'll have no choice but to charge you with conspiracy."

Mulcahy wondered if the colonel could do that, but with the Red Scare in Washington, a mark on the priest's record could do irrevocable damage. He closed the file and laid it back on the desk, choosing his opening argument carefully. "With all due respect, Colonel, Hawkeye may be angry about being here, but he's not anti-American."

"There are some in this camp who would disagree," Grayson countered. "There have been numerous reports of insubordination by Pierce, several times it has been recommended that he be court-martialed—once by his own commanding officer who seemed to drop the charge on your advice. Why was that, Padre? Are you a sympathizer?"

"I believe the incident you're referring to is the time when the person in question tried to crucify a chaplain from another unit?"

Grayson simply looked at Mulcahy, waiting for an answer.

"It was a prank, Colonel. A disturbing one, yes, but a prank nonetheless. He never had any intention of harming anyone."

"He tied a man of the cloth to a makeshift cross doused him in gasoline and tossed a match. You're telling me he had no intention of hurting the man?"

"The 'gasoline' used to douse him was water," Mulcahy corrected. "The match blew out before it even touched him. I admit, it was a cruel joke, but no one got hurt."

"But, by your own report, you fully believed the liquid was gasoline."

"Initially, like everyone else, yes." Mulcahy nodded. "But I quickly realized that nothing had happened."

"You also reportedly tried to get Pierce to apologize for the incident, but he refused; is this correct?"

"Yes," Mulcahy knew all of this was public record as he and Henry had both had to file reports based on the fellow chaplain's accusation, but the charges had been dropped…why did this matter now? "I'm sorry, Colonel, but I still fail to see how any of this could brand Hawkeye a traitor or a communist."

"It's not simply communism that we are fighting, Padre. It's everything that goes against the American way of life. Pierce is a loose cannon, an anarchist, a Godless heathen who poses a threat to the security of our nation."

"You can't be serious."

Grayson slammed his hands down on the desk, making Dago jump in response. "This is your last warning, Father! Cooperate with me, or I'm placing both you and Pierce under arrest!"

Dago's heart was racing in his chest as adrenaline fueled him. "Listen, Colonel, I realize Hawkeye isn't a model solider, but he isn't anti-American, either. Unlike you and me, he was drafted. No one _wants_ to be in a warzone, but Hawkeye had no choice!"

Boiling with rage at the priest's resistance to providing him with intel, the colonel rounded the desk and advanced on Dago so fast that the chaplain barely had time to blink before he found the front of his shirt being gripped by two large hands and he was shoved backwards against a metal filing cabinet.

Dazed and in shock by the man's sudden violence, Mulcahy hardly registered that the man was speaking.

"—think I can't touch you, you little maggot!" Grayson was yelling. "I don't give a shit if you're a priest or the goddamn pope, you're a captain in the goddamn Army which means that I outrank you and you'll do whatever I tell you to do? Do you understand me?"

"Threaten me all you want, Colonel," Dago told him bravely. "I will not break my vow of silence on your order."

The colonel snarled angrily, twirling himself around as he still clutched the chaplain's shirt, and throwing the other man across the room. As Dago's feet left the ground, and his body sailed through the air like some weightless object, he could only find himself surprised by the colonel's strength. Then he hit Henry's desk, landing first on his side, then rolling across the top as the momentum carried him—clearing every item from the surface as he fell off the other side and landed in a heap on the concrete floor. Papers fluttered around him and Dago groaned in pain, breathless from the impact, as he tried to push himself to his knees. Grayson rounded the desk again, grabbing Mulcahy again by his shirt and hauling him to his feet. Dago winced, expecting to be throw again, but found himself being slammed down, chest first, on the desk.

"By order of the President of the United States of America, you are under arrest for treason." Grayson said, producing a set of metal handcuffs from somewhere on his person and jerking Dago's arms behind him roughly before affixing a cuff to each wrist. "I warned you, Padre."

Grayson shoved Dago back down to the floor, sneering as the priest cried out in pain, unable to brace himself against the impact on the concrete. Mulcahy breathed heavily, trembling as Grayson stepped over him, and wincing against the pain throbbing in his side.

"Wait here." Grayson snarled as he exited the office.

Panting, Dago laid on the floor, trying to piece together exactly what had just happened, and assess just how badly he was hurt. He was in pain, but nothing felt broken…except for maybe a rib or two. He'd just been placed under arrest for treason and Hawkeye was being accused of being a communist. How the hell where they going to get out of this mess…?

_Henry,_ Dago thought, still breathless as he tried to squirm up into a sitting position. The cuffs were digging into his wrists, indicating that they were too tight, but he tried not to think about that for now. Henry would sort this out. He would call the man out and have the arrest withdrawn.

Dago could hear a commotion in the front office and heard indignant shouting and the sound of a scuffle just before the doors burst open. Hawkeye fell through the door, obviously having been manhandled in the same manner as the priest. Dago saw the doctor go down, but the desk was preventing him from seeing anything else. He pushed to his knees, then onto his feet just as Hawkeye started to verbalized his outrage again.

"You can't arrest me! I'm an American citizen! I'm a captain in the Army, for christssake! I'm here because YOU SENT ME HERE! I'm not a traitor!"

Dago could see that Hawkeye's hands were also bound behind him, limiting the man's movement. Grayson stalked into the room as Hawkeye continued to yell from where he was lying face-down on the floor. Dago could see the shocked faces of most of the personnel in the camp as they were lined up outside the main doors, Henry angrily shooing them all away as he raced towards the office.

_Finally…_ Dago thought with a relieved sigh at the sight of his commanding officer, and knowing Henry wouldn't tolerate this.

"I beg your pardon, Colonel, but what authority do you have coming in here and arresting my men?" Henry bellowed, his face turning an angry shade of purple.

"Get him, Henry! Don't let him get away with this!" Hawkeye was hollering from the floor.

"I have every authority, Colonel," Grayson returned hotly. "If you don't stand down, I'll have no choice but to arrest you as well."

"Uncuff my surgeon and my chaplain," Henry growled. "We will sort this out like civilized men."

"These men are being charged with treason. I have placed them under arrest and I will be taking them to the MP HQ for interrogation. They had the chance to cooperate."

"'They?'" Hawkeye protested, still prone on the floor. "You never gave me a chance to defend myself! And Dago's got nothing to do with this either, you maniac!"

Grayson ignored Hawkeye and continued to glare at Henry. "Call the MP's, Blake."

"So help me God, when I get to the bottom of this and these men are declared innocent, my boot print will be tattooed on your butt." Henry glowered. "Get out of my office. I'll call the MP's from here. These two are staying with me until then."

"Fine." Grayson said darkly, turning on his heel and stalking back through the swinging doors.

"Christ…" Henry swore softly, taking off his hat and running a hand over his black buzzed hair. "You guys okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" Hawkeye said, trying to push himself upright. "This asshole is accusing me of being a commie! You know what they do to commies don't you, Henry? They ruin your goddamn life! Fuck! I need to call my wife…if they've done anything to her or my kids I'll—"

"Settle down, Pierce!" Henry snapped loudly, pulling a chair over and pushing Hawkeye into. "You're not calling anyone."

Dago watched the scene before him with a sinking feeling as Henry found another chair and pointed the priest to it. "You're not going to let them take us, are you, Henry?"

"I don't have a choice right now, Dago." Henry answered, pacing nervously. "They must have something on your Pierce, but I don't know what. What did he indicate to you, Dago?"

"The Shaking Sammy prank was mentioned. As were the numerous suggestions that Hawkeye be court-martialed."

Hawkeye clicked his tongue. "That was a stupid prank. Tell him that, Henry. Did you tell him that, Dago?"

"I did, but he wouldn't hear it. He expected me to sell you out as a traitor; to tell him anything that might paint you as un-American, and when I told him I would not…well, he literally threw me across the room."

"Guess that explains the mess," Henry said as if seeing the strewn contents of his desk for the first time.

"Are you alright, babe?" Hawkeye asked, sincerely concerned.

"Yeah. Bruised, probably, but nothing's broken so far as I can tell."

"Alright, listen…you know what they tell you in training when you're captured?"

"To not get captured?" Hawkeye said smartly.

"Can it, Pierce; I'm serious."

"Give only your name, rank and number?" Dago answered.

"Right." Henry nodded. "I don't care if these are _our_ MP's or the CIA or whoever. Don't incriminate yourselves. Don't say anything. I'll call Hammond and pull a favor and see what I can do to get you guys cleared. Keep your mouths shut. Got it?"

"Whatever you say, Henry." Hawkeye replied moodily.

"Don't be a smart ass, Pierce. They won't hesitate to beat the snot out of you for it, and frankly for that I wouldn't blame them."

"Gee thanks." Hawkeye snorted.

"Can you at least convince him to uncuff us, Henry?" Dago asked.

"I'll see what I can do. I'll call the military vicar's office, too. Maybe they can do something the General can't do."

"Thanks."

Henry called for Radar, telling him to get the MP's on the horn, then to make the next call to General Hammond. Dago looked over at Hawkeye who was brooding next to him.

"I'm sorry, Hawkeye."

"It's not your fault, Dago. You didn't sell me out. Mostly because there's nothing to sell me out on."

"Still…"

"Don't worry about it. Henry will sort this out."

Dago sighed and nodded, his side still twinging slightly in pain. The two fell silent as they waited for the MP's to arrive, and the chaplain couldn't help but wonder what would happen once they were out of the protection of their commanding officer. Though he didn't want to say as much out loud, Dago was terrified.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from _MASH_ (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

* * *

The jeep ride to Seoul was uncomfortable, to say the least. Hawkeye and Dago were shoved into the back of a jeep—still handcuffed—while Colonel Grayson climbed into the passenger seat next to a man with an MP armband hugging his bicep. The chaplain and surgeon were ordered not to speak, so they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they were delivered to the military police headquarters.

Two guards approached the jeep as it rolled to a stop, each grabbing an arm of the arrested men, and yanking them roughly from the vehicle.

"Hey!" Hawkeye protested. "There's no need to manhandle us! Take it easy."

"Shut your mouth, Pierce." Grayson barked, then spoke to the MP's. "Separate them and put them in holding cells. I want to interview each of them before we send them off and I don't want them conspiring anymore than they already have."

"Send us off? To where?" Hawkeye demanded.

Grayson's fist struck low and fast, delivering a hard blow to Hawkeye's gut. The doctor doubled over, heaving in pain.

"Hawkeye!" Dago couldn't help but holler out at the sight of the other man being assaulted and he automatically took a step towards the doctor, but the grip on his arm tightened and jerked him in the opposite way. "Wait! Please!"

"No can do, Father." The MP said stoically. "Orders are orders."

"Can you at least tell me where they intend to send us?"

The MP didn't answer, and led Dago through a series of corridors before he unlocked the door to an empty room. "Step inside and face the wall."

Dago did as he was told, knowing that if he caused trouble now, he was likely to get himself even deeper into this mess than he already was. He was worried about Hawkeye and hoped the doctor was alright, but conceded that there was nothing he could do at the moment. As he faced the wall, the MP stepped up behind him and released the cuffs binding his wrists. Dago wanted to audibly sigh in relief from the release of tension and tightness around his wrists, but he stifled the noise.

"Place your hands against the wall." The MP instructed.

The chaplain, again, did as he was instructed. The cuffs of his shirt rode up an inch on his forearms and he could see ugly red rings marring his pale skin where the cuffs had dug into him. There were dark lines beginning to form, indicating that he was starting to bruise. He grimaced slightly at the sight.

The MP began to pat Dago down, looking for weapons or other goods he might have smuggled in that could be used in an escape attempt, and confiscating everything from the breviary that had been in his pocket, right down to the silver crosses pinned on his lapels. He even removed the army-issued cross necklace that denoted him as a Christian chaplain.

When the MP left, closing and locking the door behind him, Dago shivered involuntarily. The holding cells were not meant to provide comfort in the least. It was dark and hot—the only source of light and ventilation coming from beneath the door. There was no cot or chair in the room, and no toilet—things that one would expect to find in a typical jail cell. Dago knew that these rooms weren't meant for long-term detainment, but that thought did nothing to comfort him.

Where were they planning on sending him and Hawkeye? The chaplain wondered if Henry knew they were going to be relocated, or if Henry could even do anything for them at this point. Communism was a horrible threat, and anyone suspected of being a traitor or a sympathizer was treated guilty until proven innocent. Even the innocents who had been investigated had found their lives in ruin after they'd been cleared. Dago knew the same was possible for himself and the doctor.

Sliding down the wall in the darkened room, Dago folded his hands together and began to pray.

* * *

Hawkeye paced the small holding cell he'd been taken to like a caged animal. Feeling of the wall with one hand, he stalked back and forth angrily, trying to formulate a plan on what to do. He hated Grayson. Hated him. Hawkeye was a supreme pacifist, but he hated Grayson so much he wanted to kill him. Or at least give him what for.

His stomach was killing him from where Colonel Iron Fist had struck him, making him more aware of the knots in his gut as he worried over the situation. A thousand thoughts were circling his brain in succession, making him nauseous and anxious. For the first time since he'd been drafted, he regretted half the things he'd done that had nearly gotten him court-martialed—the other half still mostly amused him, so he didn't bother feeling bad about them. Despite the fact that Hawkeye wasn't a conventional Army Officer, he was certain he wasn't the only one who hated being here, or who didn't quite follow protocol and procedure, so what had branded him as a traitor?

He still considered that this might all be a ploy to get the American people to rally behind the war effort—much the same way they did with the propaganda during the first and second World Wars. What better way to prove the threat of communism than by showing that even a doctor and priest could be tainted by it?

_Bastards…_

He hoped that Dago was alright, and felt bad for the chaplain being caught up in this. Neither of them had done anything wrong, but Dago's refusal to cooperate was enough to charge with something, Hawkeye was sure. He admired the other man for staying strong, even though the chaplain had been so visibly upset by Grayson's attempts to get him to dish on Hawkeye. He would seriously owe the other man now.

Then, of course, was Mary and the boys. He hoped to whatever Gods might exist that they were alright; that Grayson hadn't sent some goons after them. The only thing Mary Pierce had ever done wrong in her life was falling in love with a miscreant named Hawkeye. She didn't deserve to be interrogated or made to worry that her husband might be a turncoat. Of course, Mary was smart enough to know better and just might give the CIA a piece of her mind. Hawkeye couldn't help but chuckle at that thought.

_Give 'em Hell, baby. _He thought with a grin.

* * *

Sweat rolled down the priest's face. He could feel it slick on his arms, legs, and back soaking into the fabric of his uniform. He mopped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, and rested his head back against the wall. His throat was parched and there was hardly any saliva left on his tongue as he tried to wet his chapped lips.

How long had he been in here? Surely it had only been a matter of hours, but if that was the case…how long did they intend to keep him in here? Grayson had told the guard he planned to interrogate each of them again. Was he hoping to weaken their defenses first by making them sweat it out? Mulcahy had to admit, it was a good strategy, but he still wasn't going to offer up any information that might incriminate Hawkeye. Dago didn't care what 'intel' the Colonel thought he had, Hawkeye wasn't a communist.

Lost in his own thoughts, the chaplain nearly jumped when he heard the slide of the bolt on the door before it was pushed open. Light flooded the dark room and Dago shielded his eyes as it painfully blinded him.

"On your feet." A voice ordered him.

Dago complied, albeit slowly. His body, though he had done nothing physical in several hours, felt weak and tired and sore. The guard, obviously impatient, grabbed the chaplain's collar and hoisted him the rest of the way up, spun him around and pushed him face first against the wall before wrenching his arms behind his back. The chaplain hissed in pain as another set of handcuffs were placed on his wrists, rubbing against the raw and bruise skin, but thankfully were not as tight as Grayson had made them.

"Come on." The guard said, turning Dago back around and shoving him towards the door.

"This…" Dago felt like his tongue and throat were sandpaper and his voice cracked from lack of moisture. He tried to swallow, but he was too dehydrated. "This isn't necessary."

The guard said nothing as he marched Dago back along several corridors to another room and roughly pushed him into a wooden chair in front of a wooden table, leaving him cuffed. This room was dimly lit, but still uncomfortably warm. As the guard made to leave again, Dago pleaded with him.

"Can't I have some water? Please?"

His only reply was the door slamming shut behind the guard. Dago sighed and let his head drop forward as he closed his eyes, feeling defeated and utterly alone.

It felt like another eternity had passed before the door opened again. Dago didn't bother looking up immediately to see who it was. He knew by sheer intuition that it was Colonel Grayson.

"Well, _Red_," the colonel said in a smooth voice laced with poisonous barbs. Dago knew the use of the nickname was a double entendre: Red because of Dago Red and Red because of communist. It was just one more gibe to get at the chaplain. "Now that you've had a little taste of what's in store for you…are you ready to cooperate?"

Now Dago did lift his head. The colonel was holding a glass of water and Dago involuntarily licked his lips, the sight of the cool liquid momentarily making him forget Grayson's thinly-veiled threat. "What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want, Padre." Grayson said, coming over and setting the glass down on the table before he perched himself on the edge. "All you have to do is tell me anything Pierce might have said to you that was unpatriotic, then you're free to go."

Dago met the man's eyes. "What did Hawkeye do that made you think he was a communist?"

"I've already told you, Padre; he's a threat to the American way of life." Grayson said impatiently. "What has he said to you?"

"I've known Hawkeye for several months, since he first came to Korea." Dago said dryly. "He and I have had numerous exchanges."

"Yes…and?" The colonel was practically salivating, obviously pleased that the priest was speaking.

"I don't intend to tell you about any of them." Dago said after a moment's hesitation.

He could nearly see the steam billow out of Grayson's ears as the colonel reached his boiling point. The colonel was on his feet in a flash, one leg swiping under the legs of the chairs and knocking it—and Dago—to the floor. Again the chaplain was momentarily dazed by the colonel's swiftness, but soon found himself being hauled off the floor before he was slammed against the wall.

"I warned you once, you little shit!" Grayson screamed at him, tugging him forward before he slammed Dago back into the wall a second time. The chaplain felt the air leave his lungs from the force of it. "Don't fuck with me! Tell me what you know!"

"I don't know anything!" Dago yelled back weakly.

"Bullshit!" Grayson said, slamming the priest into the wall a third time. "Tell me what you know!"

Dago gave the man a daring look, remembering the last thing Henry had told them. "What I know? This is what I know: I am John Patrick Mulcahy. My rank is Captain of the United States Army. My service number is RA56295403*."

Grayson snapped.

Just as he'd done to Hawkeye, the Colonel slammed his fist into Dago's stomach, making the priest want to vomit, though he knew there was nothing to expel. He punched Dago again and again in the same place.

"Want to get cute with me!" Grayson bellowed. "Think I won't lay a hand on you because you're a man of God? Think again, Padre!"

He struck one last time, harder than before and released Dago. The priest fell to the ground, hunching over, unable to hug his stomach due to the cuffs, as he coughed and gagged. Tears were leaking from his eyes, mingling with the sweat on his face, and dripping from the end of his nose and chin.

"Last chance, Padre." Grayson panted.

"My name…" Dago said shakily, "is John Patrick Mulcahy. My rank is-"

Before he could continue, Grayson came at him again and landed a solid kick to the priest's face. As Dago's mouth filled with blood, he wondered if the colonel had just kicked his teeth out, but when he spit the crimson fluid on the floor, none of his teeth fell out. He poured blood from his mouth and nose, throbbing where the colonel's steel-toed boot had connected.

Grayson squatted down in front of Mulcahy. "You had your chance, Padre. I have no choice but to keep you under arrest. Even if Pierce decides to confess, you've committed treason by keeping his secrets."

Dago wanted to speak, but between the pain, blood and dehydration, he couldn't find the ability. Dago's eyes tracked the colonel as he rose to his feet and crossed to the table to pick up the glass of water. For a long second, Dago's hopes soared that perhaps the man might allow him a drink after all, but they were quickly dashed again as Grayson carried the water over and poured it on the floor in front of the priest. He felt more tears sting his eyes at the utter cruelty of this man, but the sight of the water on the ground was simply too much. Dago swallowed whatever pride he had left at this point and lowered his bloodied face to the floor, trying to lap at the liquid as best he could. He cried in anguish as the water he could get was immediately tainted with his blood, providing him no relief.

He heard Grayson laugh coldly above him, obviously enjoying the sight before the man turned and left the room. Dago rested his forehead on the floor as he sobbed. Was this what happened to people who were arrested on suspicion of conspiracy or treason? Was this how they were treated? He couldn't reconcile that his own country might treat him this way. True, he could have told them what they wanted to hear, but why put Hawkeye on the line for a few foolish comments that meant nothing?

The door opened again and Dago didn't bother moving, even when he was ordered to his feet. He knew, either way, the impatient guard would haul him up, then escort him back to his holding room. Dago hadn't anticipated the shock of pain, however, as his stomach screamed in agony, making him want to wretch once again. He still felt somewhat dazed and weak as he was shoved forward.

The priest was hardly aware that anyone else was in the vicinity, but as his eyes glanced up at an approaching set of boots, he met Hawkeye's gaze. The doctor's mouth dropped in horror at the sight of the priest, and Dago watched Hawkeye struggle to get away from the guard escorting him.

"Dago! Christ! Let me go, you son of a bitch!" Hawkeye screamed. "Dago!"

Dago couldn't open his mouth to respond, as it had once again filled with blood, and he simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to be marched back to his room.

* * *

"I swear to God, I'm going to sue the whole Goddamn United States when I get out of here!" Hawkeye screamed as he continued to struggle against the guards. He was tossed into the interrogation room they'd just taken Dago from and he kicked the door repeatedly as it was slammed shut. "YOU FUCKING COWARDS!"

Shaking with rage, Hawkeye panted and turned to survey the room. There was a toppled chair, and what looked like a mix of blood and water spilled on the floor. If Hawkeye had wanted to kill Grayson before, now he wanted to make it a slow and painful death. He tried to imagine what the colonel had done to Dago, but the possibilities just made him boil with rage. He couldn't get the sight of Dago's bloodied face out of his mind. He could tell, just by the quick look he'd had that Dago's nose had been broken and his upper lip had been split. The priest needed medical care to stitch his lip and reset his nose before it was too late.

When the door opened, Hawkeye wanted to charge the man, but he managed to stay put, simply turning his hateful glare on the colonel. "What did you do to him?"

"I gave him a chance," Grayson said coldly. "It is his own fault."

"_His_ fault?" Hawkeye felt himself ready to explode. "You son of a bitch, I'll—"

"You'll get the same thing if you don't shut up and sit down, Pierce." Grayson said, as he righted the chair and pointed to it.

Hawkeye thought for a long minute. "I'll cooperate with you on the condition that you let me treat him."

Grayson looked surprised. "Very well. Sit."

Hawkeye sat and watched Grayson pace the room. Then the interrogation began…

* * *

Dago lay on the floor of his cell, thoughtless and in pain. He had no idea how much time had passed, and he simply didn't care. He felt defeated and alone, knowing no one was coming to save them from this hell and he'd pretty much sealed his own fate by sticking to his vow not to speak.

When the bolt on the door slid open, Dago tensed, waiting to be hauled to his feet once again, but instead someone limped into his cell. He weakly lifted his head, squinting up at the figure standing in the doorway, but unable to make out who it was or what they wanted. He was half tempted to tell whoever it was to go away, but wasn't keen on getting another kick in the teeth, so he simply dropped his head back down to the make-shift pillow he'd fashioned out of his shirt.

"Dago?" Hawkeye's voice was soft and he limped again towards the priest. Mulcahy lifted his head once again, the quick movement making him momentarily dizzy.

"Hawkeye?" He mumbled dryly through swollen lips.

"Yeah, babe…it's me." He said. The door slid shut behind Hawkeye, blanketing the room in darkness once again. "Thanks a lot!" Hawkeye yelled out to the guard before he dug into the medical kit they'd given him to patch up his friend. He found the flashlight that was standard issue in a kit and clicked it on, shining the beam at the priest, who flinched against the bright light. "Sorry…"

Hawkeye limped towards Dago as the priest managed to pull himself into a sitting position and sank down next to him against the wall. The beam of the flashlight illuminated Hawkeye's face for a brief moment and the priest reached over and took the light from the doctor, aiming it at Hawkeye's face.

An ugly bruise was already beginning to form around the surgeon's right eye—which, Dago noticed, was not hidden by the doctor's glasses. There was a smudge of red in the corner of Hawkeye's mouth, indicating he'd also been hit there.

"Are you okay?" Dago mumbled.

Hawkeye gave a weak laugh. "Don't worry about me, Dago. I'll live. I'm here to take care of you. Tilt the light up at your face." Hesitantly, the priest obeyed and Hawkeye sighed in empathy. "Christ…Looks like he tap danced on your face."

"Feels like it too."

Hawkeye sighed as he assessed the damaged. He really needed some water to debride the wounds, not wanting to use the alcohol in the bag, knowing it would hurt like hell, but he didn't have a choice. He pulled out the bottle of alcohol and a piece of gauze. "I wish I could tell you this wasn't going to hurt, Dago…"

"It already hurts." The chaplain countered.

"I know." Hawkeye said softly as he saturated the gauze with alcohol. "But it's about to hurt even worse."

The doctor gently pressed the gauze against the priest's lip and Dago winced as his skin felt like it'd been set on fire.

"I'm sorry Grayson did this to you, Dago. I'm sorry it's because of me."

The chaplain shook his head minutely, speaking when Hawkeye lifted away the gauze. "Don't be sorry, Hawkeye. It was my choice not to say anything to him. I don't think you're a communist any more than I am, but I wasn't going to offer up anything that might get you in trouble."

"I'm not sure it would have mattered either way," Hawkeye said as he wetted a new piece of gauze and began dabbing at the dried blood on the priest's face. "I told him I'd cooperate with him if he let me treat you, and even though I answered every single question, he still didn't like my answers and decided to take it out on my face with his fists."

"Better his fist than his foot," Dago sighed.

"He kicked you in the face?" Hawkeye sounded horrified and couldn't believe it when Dago nodded. "Christ…Dago…did you lose any teeth?"

"I don't think so. My gums are sore though so he might have loosened a few."

"That lousy son of a bitch…I know he's broken your nose. I could tell just looking at you earlier. And, by the way, I'm going to have to reset it, which will probably make it bleed again now that so much time has passed." Hawkeye sighed. "I'll put a few stitches in your lip, too."

"What did you tell Grayson?" Dago asked as Hawkeye finished cleaning up his face and dug through the bag for a needle and suture silk.

"Why I do the things I do—like the thing with Shaking Sammy. He didn't like me saying that it was just fun and games."

"No, I don't suppose he did." Dago said, managing to find a small chuckle. "He asked me to tell him what I knew, so I gave him my name, rank and service number. You can see how well that went over."

Hawkeye shook his head with a laugh. "You're one brave bastard, you know that, Dago? I never would have thought you'd have the guts to stand up to a guy like Grayson, but I was wrong. And…thank you."

"The question is…what happens now?"

"I don't know." Hawkeye said seriously, then met Dago's eyes. "Lay down on your back, this might be easier that way."

Dago complied and laid back, resting his head on his balled up shirt and looking up at Hawkeye who was positioning the flashlight in Dago's hand so that it gave him the right amount of light.

"Hold completely still, babe. I don't have any topical anesthetic to numb your lip."

Dago closed his eyes and felt the small needle pierce his skin half way between the opening of his left nostril and upper lip. It was extremely uncomfortable, but not unbearable, and Hawkeye worked quickly and carefully to minimize the pain as much as possible. When he was finally done, he snipped the thread close to the skin and patted Dago on the shoulder.

"All done with that babe, now sit up and I'll reset your nose."

"Do you have to?" Dago asked, gingerly feeling the stitches with the tip of his finger.

"Unless you want your nose to be crooked, I strongly suggest you let me."

The chaplain sighed and once again did as he was told, sitting up and putting his back against the wall. Hawkeye knelt in front of him, taking several pieces of gauze and folding them together. "Hold these. Your nose is going to start bleeding when I do this."

Dago closed his eyes tightly, holding his breath as Hawkeye reached forward, grabbing the bridge of the chaplain's nose and jerked it back into place. Dago could hear, as well as feel, the bone being moved back into place and tears stung his eyes and he bit back a scream of pain. Hawkeye's fingers closed over Dago's wrist and he lifted the chaplain's hand so that the gauze was pressed against his nostrils as the blood started to flow.

"Breathe, Dago." Hawkeye coached him, trying to find some tape that might keep the bone stable while it healed. He found a small roll and placed a thick piece of gauze over the bridge of the chaplain's nose before he taped it down tightly. "Don't touch that, okay?"

Dago was taking short, shallow breaths, tears leaking from his closed eyes.

Hawkeye felt bad that he hadn't been able to give the priest anything to numb the pain before…or even now, so he simply had to rely on the psychological benefits. "The worst is over, Dago. That's as bad as the pain will get. I promise."

"Trust me…that was bad enough."

"Yeah, but you took it like a champ, babe. Me, I'd have been screaming."

"Don't think I didn't want to." Dago said, trying to normalize his breath. "I want to go home."

"I know…so do I, baby."

"I'm so thirsty."

Hawkeye laid his hand on Dago's shoulder. "We can't think about it, Dago. We have to just stay focused on something else. They won't let us die in here."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because that would be murder," Hawkeye said. "I don't care what crime they want to charge either of us with; they can't just let us die."

"I'm not sure I agree." Dago said softly. "You heard Grayson earlier. He's planning on sending us somewhere."

"I know. But we have to be alive for that."

"Not if it's to a graveyard."

"Aren't you the one who's supposed to be optimistic? I figured you'd be spouting off some crap about how God is watching over us or something."

"He is, but even I doubt He would personally intervene in this matter."

"Gee, if that's faith, I definitely don't want any of that."

"I'm sorry… you're right." Dago sighed. "I'm just…afraid."

"I am too, babe; but that's what they want. They want us to be afraid." Hawkeye checked the flow of blood coming from Dago's nose and gave him a new piece of gauze, then changed the subject. "What do you think everyone's doing back at the 4077th?"

"Depends on how many casualties have come in between now and then. I'd expect Trapper and Duke and probably pretty lost without you."

"Either that or they've emptied the still in my absence and are having a fine time on my grog."

"That's likely too, I suppose."

The door lock slid open once again and light filled the room as both men were told to get on their feet and face the wall. Hawkeye knew what was coming and tried to talk reason to the guard.

"Listen, bub, you can cuff me anyway you like, but can you cuff him with his hands in front? I just reset his nose and it's gushing blood right now."

"Turn around," the guard said. "Hands behind your back."

"So much for diplomacy." Hawkeye scoffed. "Guess we really are on the wrong side of the war, Dago."

"No talking." The guard ordered as he snapped a pair of cuffs on each man and told them to proceed into the hallway.

Another guard was waiting and the two men were marched back through the many corridors and outside to a waiting jeep. It felt like early morning to the chaplain, and he knew the time had come that they would be transported to some undisclosed location. His only comfort in the matter was that—so far—he and Hawkeye would be traveling together.

Dago could feel blood dripping off his chin once again as they loaded into the jeep and took off. He could feel it spilling down from his nostrils and across his lips, and wished he had been able to keep the gauze in place. With a grimace, he wiped his chin across the top of his shoulder, letting his shirt mop up the blood. He didn't dare wipe his lips or nose and cause himself further pain and injury.

"It'll stop bleeding soon," Hawkeye reassured him quietly.

"I said no talking!" The guard said loudly from the front seat.

They drove for what felt like half the morning until they came to a checkpoint, where several armed men were waiting. Dago and Hawkeye were ordered to get out of the jeep, then they were both uncuffed before the MP's returned to the jeep and left.

"Fall in." One of the armed men said.

Dago and Hawkeye exchanged a curious glance, but didn't move.

"Fall. In." The man repeated with some irritation.

"To what are we falling in?" Hawkeye asked.

"Line." The man said gruffly.

Dago stepped in behind Hawkeye, and guards flanked them on either side.

"No chance for escape then," Hawkeye muttered.

"Company, march." The man in front hollered out, moving the group forward.

They walked along a dusty, dirty road that was lined with trees and disappeared behind a bend. Dago had no idea where they were or where they were headed, but he was tired and sore and dying of thirst.

Just when he thought he couldn't take another step, their destination came into view. It was a camp, not unlike the 4077th, but it was enclosed behind two barbed-wire fences that were at least 12 feet high. There was a gate leading into the camp manned by two armed guards. Dago felt his stomach drop.

"A POW camp?" He asked aloud before he realized it.

"Detention facility," the guard next to him corrected quietly, obviously knowing he wasn't supposed to be talking to the prisoners.

The chaplain looked over at him in surprise.

"Freedom Camp." The guard spoke again. "It's where they bring traitors."

"What happens to the people who are taken here?"

"They're given a chance to reform." The man said.

"And what about people who are innocent of the crimes they're charged with?"

The man couldn't answer as the group came to a stop outside the gates. Another man in uniform approached the gate and was let through and he inspected both Hawkeye and Dago carefully.

"Captains Pierce and Mulcahy, I presume." The man didn't wait for an answer. "I'm Colonel West. I run this little operation here."

West was a short man, and slightly stout, which contrasted to Grayson's harsh, overbearing physique. Though he wasn't as tall or well-built as the other colonel, West was still intimidating in his own way.

"You men are here because you have been arrested on suspicion of communist sympathies; a threat that destroys democracy and everything that the United States has been fighting against for since the first World War. Rather than charge you with your crime outright and discharge you from service, you have been given the opportunity to redeem yourselves and prove that you are valuable members of American society and worthy to be in this man's Army. Because you are officers, you are free to roam the grounds as you please in your spare time. Work hard and obey my rules, and you could earn your freedom back."

"What are your rules?" Hawkeye asked.

"Do not attempt to escape." The colonel said. "For your sake; not for mine. There have been a few foolhardy attempts to escape but each one was…terminated."

Dago swallowed hard, understanding the meaning.

"That's it?" Hawkeye asked incredulously. "Don't escape?"

"Believe me, Captain…that is enough."

Hawkeye and Dago exchanged another look, both feeling uneasy about what lay in store for them at the Freedom Camp. If the only rule was not to escape, how bad must things be on the inside?

As the two men were marched through the gate, they knew it wouldn't be long before they found out.

* * *

TBC

In the television series, Father Mulcahy's service number is said to be RA11295403. Since Mulcahy is from Pennsylvania in the series, the first two numbers should have been either 13 or 52 depending on the year he enlisted, not 11. However, in the books that launched the movie and TV series, Mulcahy is from San Diego, California. Hence, I changed the first two numbers of his service number to 56, which means that he would have enlisted after 1948 before the Korean War began.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from _MASH_ (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

* * *

Dago stuck close to Hawkeye as the two were led in through the front gate by the colonel. The camp seemed nearly empty except from the armed guards and the colonel, and Dago found himself wondering exactly where the other prisoners were. They were taken into one of the tents that housed clothes and bed lines, and each man was given two pairs of pants, two shirts, two socks, two undershorts, a pair of suspenders, and one set of bed linens.

"Pardon me, Colonel, but there are 7 days in the week."

"Yes?" West said, eyeing Hawkeye. "This isn't a resort, Captain. You'll have the opportunity to wash your clothing and linens twice a week. However, if you are dissatisfied, I'm sure I could take one set of clothing back…then you might be grateful for a spare pair of shorts."

"No, thank you, Colonel. I'm sure this is more than I'll need." Hawkeye replied bitterly.

"Good. Then change out of your clothes and remove your tags. Until you've earned your freedom, you have lost the right to call yourself soldiers."

"We're not soldiers." Hawkeye couldn't stop himself. "I'm a doctor; he's a chaplain."

"I've been warned about you Pierce," West sneered. "One more remark out of you, and I'll make you wish you'd been born without a tongue."

Dago could see the contempt on Hawkeye's face and the desire to rebuttal, but he didn't want either of them to start off on the wrong foot in this place. Laying a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder, the chaplain tried to wordlessly plead with Hawkeye to let this one go. As a way of acknowledging Dago's request, Hawkeye simply reached down the front of his shirt and pulled his dog tags off over his head, holding them out to the colonel.

The colonel grinned victoriously and took the tags from the doctor, then looked at the priest. Dago took his own tags off, handing them over. "Change your clothes, then report to your barrack in tent number three. The men will be returning for lunch within the hour, you can join them in the mess tent, then you will receive your work assignments."

Hawkeye and Dago watched the man leave before he stopped in the doorway.

"Remember, gentlemen; work hard and respect the rules and you may leave here a free man." The colonel gave a superficial smile then pointed to a bin next to Dago. "You can place your uniforms in there."

"I'm not sure what the lesser of two evils is—Grayson or this clown." Hawkeye said when they were alone again.

"Just keep your head down," Dago said as he carefully removed his t-shirt.

Hawkeye grimaced at the bruises staining the chaplain's pale stomach. "Guess ol' Iron Fist gave you the one-two in the gut, too."

Dago looked down his torso. "And the three-four."

"That son of a bitch… I've done a lot of things, but I've never punched a priest." Hawkeye said, yanking his own shirt off.

The two quickly changed into the clean non-descript clothing—a pair of brown trousers, a linen shirt and their suspenders—and discarded their soiled uniforms in the bin.

"Christ," Hawkeye said, pulling at the suspenders. "I feel like a farmer."

"You're probably not far off," Dago told him. "I'm sure we'll be plowing a field or digging a ditch or some kind of other labor."

"I never thought I'd miss the hullabaloo at the 4077th, but I'll be damned if I'd give anything to be back there right now."

"Me too." Dago sighed. "Come on, let's go. I want to find a washroom so I can wash my face."

Hawkeye nodded and led the way into the compound. They walked around familiarizing themselves with their new surroundings. There was one latrine with three toilets and shower stand surrounded on three sides by plywood. They looked at it forlornly. "Guess we checked our privacy at the gate too."

Dago hummed in acknowledgement, handing his spare clothes to Hawkeye before stepping up to the shower stand and pulling the chain to turn on the water, standing back as far as he could to avoid getting wet. He cupped his other hand and let it fill with water, bringing it to his face and gently washing away the blood that had dried on his nose, mouth and chin. Though the water had a slight sulfuric stench to it, Dago had not forgotten how thirsty he was. Once his face was clean, he let his hand fill with water again, then brought it to his lips and slurped from the palm of his hand. Though the water was warm and tasted almost as foul as it smelled, Dago couldn't drink it fast enough and filled his hand again and again until Hawkeye's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Slow down, babe. I know you're thirsty, but if you drink too much too fast it'll make you sick. Especially this water…I can smell the sulfur from here."

Dago wiped his mouth on the back of his hand but let go of the water chain. His thirst was nowhere near quenched, but he didn't feel like he was going to die anymore.

They found tent 3 easily enough, but it provided about as much comfort as a dry oasis in the dessert. The room was filled with old metal cots with thin pads that someone must have facetiously labeled as a mattress. There were 6 cots with sheets on them and six without, which meant that before Dago and Hawkeye had arrived, the tent was only at half capacity. The two men claimed empty bunks side-by-side, making the beds and stowing their extra clothes beneath.

Dago sat down on the edge of his bunk, folding his hands together. "Hawkeye…do you think we'll get out of here."

"Of course we will, babe. Henry's bound to do something to spring us. I mean, they can't do anything without us, right?"

Dago gave him an incredulous look.

"Look," Hawkeye said, sitting down next to the priest. "Let's just do like you said: keep our heads down. We'll do our work, keep our mouths shut, and sing Yankee Doodle 'til the cows come home if that's what they want."

The chaplain nodded as the door to the tent swung open and half a dozen dirty, sweaty men spilled in through the door. The men eyed the new comers warily.

"Place is starting to fill up," a tall silver-haired man said. "That makes 3 new-comers this week alone."

"Hawkeye Pierce, surgeon," the doctor said, standing up and extending his hand to the other man. "This here is Dago Red, he's a chaplain."

"Don't expect special treatment, Father," the man said. "We've got two rabbi's in the next tent and a Baptist minister in another. They'll stick you in the hole sure as shit if you step out of line."

"What's the hole?" Dago asked.

"Solitary confinement. A stinking hole in the ground about the size of a broom closet. Better hope you're not claustrophobic."

The thought made Hawkeye shudder. "Well, let's do what we can to avoid that detail. What's your name, friend?"

"Richard Williams, Major." The man answered. "This here is Mac, Ace, and Zip. Those two over there are Donovan and Sully."

"I'd ask what you're in for, but something tells me there's only one ticket for this ride."

"Has anyone ever gotten out?" Dago asked the more important question.

"Oh sure…in a box." Williams said ominously. "Ain't no one that comes here gets set free. I don't care what West tells you; you'll die here. If the dysentery doesn't get you, then your mind will. No one in here is a commie, but that doesn't stop them from trying to get you to say you are."

"West said people have tried to escape." Hawkeye posed.

"Yeah, tried. No one's made it 10 feet beyond those fences before they were shot full of shells. If I were you, I wouldn't even think of the word escape. West will break your ankles just for good measure."

Dago and Hawkeye looked at one another. "I'm beginning to think Grayson was the lesser of the evils."

Hawkeye nodded in agreement just as a bell sounded out the courtyard.

"Roll call," Williams said. "They like to count heads throughout the day, before and after meals, and generally anytime that's inconvenient."

The other men were already filing out the door and Dago and Hawkeye followed suit, seeing men scrambling to form lines. They fell in towards the back just as one of the guards began to call roll in alphabetical order. Dago counted 21 men besides himself and Hawkeye. They were all dirty and ragged looking. There was a boy just down the line from where they stood with a swollen face that was varying shades of black and purple. Dago wondered if he'd had the misfortune of meeting Colonel Grayson.

Once everyone was accounted for, the men were granted permission to go to the mess tent for lunch. It was a near mad-dash to the dining hall and Dago could only think of the phrase "every man for himself" as he watched the men shoving their way through the people to try and be the first in line.

The lunch was a meager helping of cabbage stew that smelled of old socks and a piece of stale bread that was questionable. Ever the devoted Catholic, Dago knew to always be thankful for meals, no matter how repulsive they were. He and Hawkeye took their trays of food and followed Williams and the others from Tent 3 to a table where there were tin cups and pitchers of water. Dago immediately reached for the pitcher and filled a cup to the brim. He was still thoroughly dehydrated and wanted water more than anything else.

Again, Hawkeye gave him warning, "Easy on the water, Dago."

Dago tried to heed the warning, taking smaller sips rather than gulping it down like he wanted to. He surveyed the others in the mess tent. Most men were hunched over their bowls, eating as if they hadn't seen food in a week and protecting their bounty from anyone who might take it away. He noticed that the majority of them, while brawny, were also thin as a rail.

_Starvation._ His mind said. Maybe Williams hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that people only left this place in coffins. As he looked upon each man, he began to see how roughed up they all seemed to be. Some of them were sporting dirty rags tied around their hands or arms in makeshift bandages. Some men had severely crooked fingers, indicating that they'd been broken once or twice, maybe more. They were cut and bruised to varying degrees, and if you looked close enough you could tell which ones had been here the longest.

He tore his eyes away from the others, refusing to believe that, one day, that might be himself and Hawkeye. Despite his lack of appetite, Dago forced down some of the stew and bread, not sure how often the men had edible meals. He knew that he would need all the nutrition he could get to not end up like the rest of these men, but tainted water and boiled cabbage was hardly enough to sustain a grown man for long.

"You know I have six brothers who've spent their entire adult lives in and out of jail." Hawkeye said as he poked a piece of cabbage with his spoon. "I'm willing to bet the food they got there wasn't half as bad as this."

"Don't let 'em hear you complain." Williams grumbled from across the table. "They hear you complain or ask for more, they'll put you on nothin' but bread and water for a week."

After lunch was over, the bell tolled in the courtyard and all the men quickly filed out of the mess tent, carrying their dirty dishes with them and stacking them near the door. Hawkeye and Dago, again, followed suit and found themselves in their second roll call. After Zimmerman, Paul was called, Colonel West stepped forward and called for Pierce and Mulcahy to stay behind, but dismissed the others, who formed various lines in front of guards and were marched out the front gates, some handed various tools as they passed by a shed.

One of the lines, Dago noticed, hadn't moved yet and several pairs of eyes were tracking him and Hawkeye. West began to lead them over to the group, speaking as they moved. "You'll be in Bravo Company; road detail. Sergeant Powell here will be in charge of you boys."

"Say, Colonel…" Hawkeye couldn't help himself. "Do we get paid for the work we do? You know the Geneva Conven—"

West laughed humorlessly, "I'm afraid you misunderstand the situation, Dr. Pierce. You are not prisoners of war… you are simply prisoners. The fact that you happened to be arrested and placed here _during_ a war is merely a happy coincidence."

Without anything further, West dismissed the Bravo Company and Dago and Hawkeye were marched along with the others in their group to the tool shed near the gate. A heavy pickaxe was thrust into Dago's hands and he looked back at his companion. Hawkeye's bruised mouth was set in a thin line, belying his cool exterior. It made Dago's stomach knot with nerves as he began to realize more and more how bad things were, and how much worse they were going to get.

* * *

Pull. Swing. Strike. Pull. Swing. Strike. Again and again, the chaplain wielded his tool, driving the sharp head of the axe into the earth to break up the soil and rock. Sweat was pouring off of him, leaching him once more of moisture. It was a warm day with no breeze. Dust filled the air around him and he felt it clogging his airways every time he took a breath. His already sore body was screaming in pain, arms shaking with every swing of the axe. The wooden handle was worn and splintering, digging into his bare hands, rubbing the skin raw and bringing up blisters.

Dago wondered what time it was, but the position of the sun told him it was still only mid-afternoon. He wondered how much longer they would have to keep this up, and it boggled his mind to think that the rest of these men had already spent the morning out there working like this.

Hawkeye was a few feet away from Dago, shoveling the rock that had been broken up. His blonde hair was soaking wet and sticking to his forehead, sweat was dripping off the end of his nose. He looked tired, but he seemed to be holding up better than the priest was. _He is also quite a bit younger that I am._ Dago thought to himself as he panted for air.

"Pick it up, Padre." The Sergeant said as he walked down the line towards Dago.

Taking a steadying breath, Dago weakly lifted his axe, letting gravity carry it back down the ground. When he tried to pull again, he found his strength completely sapped. "I'm sorry, Sergeant…I can't do anymore."

"We've still got a mile of road to dig up," Powell said. "You better find a way because we don't go in until we're done."

Dago knew that the rest of the company would be punished for his weakness, so he dug down deep within himself, past he pain, past the weariness, and somehow found the strength to keep going.

They worked relentlessly under the sun until the Sergeant decided they'd done enough for the day. Dago's knees were wobbling under him as he tried to find his place in line and he could only just drag the pickaxe behind him. Every inch of his body hurt in a way he'd never experienced before. Was this why some of the men had tried to escape; they couldn't handle the physical demands? Dago couldn't say that he blamed them, the poor saps. He didn't even want to think how far they would have to walk back to the camp, but a hand landed on his shoulder and urged him along gently.

"Give me your axe, I'll carry it." Hawkeye said.

"Thank you…" The priest gratefully released the heavy tool into the other man's hand and watched Hawkeye heave both tools onto one shoulder. "I'm exhausted."

"I know." Hawkeye said. "You're also burnt to a crisp. That's going to hurt like hell tomorrow."

"Nice to know I'll hurt as much outside as I do inside." Dago said weakly.

When they finally made it back to camp, Dago had to drag his feet in order to make it back to their tent. He collapsed in a heap on to his bunk, unable to carry his own weight one step further. He felt someone sit next to him and pick up his hand, and upon opening his eyes, he saw Hawkeye assessing the injured flesh with a near-sighted squint. Dago had almost forgotten that Grayson had broken the doctor's glasses.

Hawkeye _tsk_ed in annoyance, pushing his wet hair off his forehead. "Jesus…isn't there a medical kit or anything we have access to?"

"If there ain't a bone stickin' out, forget it." Williams said as he sank down on his own bunk.

Dago watched Hawkeye think about what to do for a long minute before the doctor released his hand and got up, stalking back out of the tent.

"First week is the worst for everyone," Williams said. Dago couldn't even think about turning his head to look at the other man, but at least his mouth still worked.

"How long have you been here?"

"Couple months." Williams answered. "Best any of us can figure it, anyone who's got a little dirt on their nose while they've been in Korea is being red flagged."

"And those that refuse to rat out the ones being investigated."

"That why you're here?"

"Yeah." Dago said with a tired sigh.

"Well, word of advice, Padre…no matter how bad you hurt in the morning…make sure you get out of bed and get to roll call. If you don't, they'll probably put you in the box."

"The box?" The priest asked, summoning the strength to look over at Williams.

"The box is probably worse that the hole. It ain't big enough to stand up in but there ain't room to sit either." Williams described. "Once, they left a guy in there for three days straight."

"Why?" Dago couldn't comprehend why anyone would treat other human beings so cruelly.

"They want to break you; make you confess to being a commie." Williams replied. "Like I said, ain't none of us commies, and that's why we're never gonna get out."

"What's so important about us confessing to being communists? What difference does it make? If they're already treating us like we're traitors, what would be the point in confessing to actually being one? To risk something worse than _this_?"

"Beats me," Williams shrugged and laid back on his bunk.

The chaplain watched him for a long moment, too tired and in too much pain to turn his head back around. He closed his eyes as a feeling of utter hopelessness settled over him. Dago had always been able to rely on his faith to get him through tough times, but was that going to be enough to carry both him through this? And what of Hawkeye; a man who had no faith whatsoever?

"Help us," Dago whispered in prayer. "Please…help us."

* * *

Hawkeye made his way towards where he assumed West's office would be. Two armed guards were standing out front and effectively blocked Hawkeye from entering.

"Let me see the Colonel."

"Go back to your barrack." One of the guards said dismissively, as if Hawkeye was nothing more than annoying younger brother.

"Maybe you didn't hear me," Hawkeye said. "Let me see the Colonel."

"You got a mental problem?" The other guard said with a think Bronx accent. "He said go back to your barrack. Unless you's looking for some trouble."

"There's no need for trouble if you'd just let me talk to the Colonel."

"No one talks to the Colonel unless he calls for you."

"Who is he? The Wizard of Oz?" Hawkeye said, reaching between the guards for the door handle. Each man shoved him back by his shoulders, leveling their guns at him. Hawkeye held his hands up at chest level. "Listen, fellas, there's no need for all of this. I just need a medical kit—I'd even settle for some Band-Aids and alcohol—but I'm not giving up until I get them.

"Oh, a band-aid," one of the guards said with a snarky snort. "Hear that, Joe; alls he needs is a band-aid."

The two men laughed as if Hawkeye had told them a great joke. Hawkeye furrowed his brow in annoyance and tried to push through the guards once again. This time when he was shoved backwards, he landed on his backside. Hawkeye looked up at the men just as the butt of a rifle swung down and clocked him across the face. Though dazed, Hawkeye could feel the blood trickling down from his check. He pushed himself onto his knees, trying to get back on his feet.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay down." The Bronx boy said.

Hawkeye looked up at him blearily, but stumbled to his feet. "Let me see the Colonel."

Two more guards approached him, flanking Hawkeye on either side. He saw the one of the guards give a nod to the new comers, and immediately they grabbed Hawkeye's arms, twisting them behind his back and holding him in place as the two guards who had been blocking West's door raised the butts of their guns and began striking Hawkeye in the stomach, knees, face, and anywhere else they could get.

Hawkeye cried out in pain, trying to curl into himself to protect himself from the blows, but the guards holding him kept him upright. He could hear people yelling all around him—other prisoners shouting for the guards to stop, for Hawkeye to fight back—but he could do nothing but take the beating.

The doors opened behind the guards and West rushed out, shouting above the roar of the crowd. "What is going on here?"

The guards ceased beating Hawkeye, but he was still held upright by the others. He sagged between them, weakened and bruised and bleeding, and unable to support his own weight. He listened as one of the guards explained the situation—how Hawkeye had demanded to see the Colonel and had demanded a med kit.

"What do you want with a med kit?" West demanded.

"My friend," Hawkeye panted through the pain. "Mulcahy…it's for him."

"Not for you?"

"I'm a doctor," Hawkeye told him. "I have to help the injured. Let me treat him…let me treat the others. Please."

"Why should I?" West asked cruelly. "Pain is an important tool, Doctor Pierce. It can motivate even the strongest of men. If I let you treat these men, then they have no motivation."

"Motivation for what?" Hawkeye asked as the two guards dropped him down to the ground.

"To redeem themselves."

"Let me treat Dago," Hawkeye said again. "He has nothing to redeem himself for. He's only here because he's a priest who takes his vows of silence too seriously. He's not a traitor."

West squatted in front of Hawkeye, looking at him with a peculiar expression. "What about you, Pierce? Are you a traitor?"

Hawkeye panted around the pain in his side as he looked at West through swollen eyelids. He strongly considered saying yes just to see what would happen, but the thought of what such a confession would do to his wife and children stopped him. "No."

West look disappointed but rose up to his full height. "Your friend seems to be more of a motivator to you than the pain…So be it. Sound the bell. Summon the men to the courtyard."

Hawkeye felt his stomach drop and clench with fear. He wanted to protest, to beg them to leave Dago alone, but knew that one more word would make whatever punishment they were about to give to Dago ten times worse. Hawkeye tried to get to his feet, but his side screamed in pain. He knew he had at least two cracked ribs, but he couldn't worry over that… The bell tolled and the men started scrambling to form lines. Hawkeye pulled himself to his feet, limping slowly towards his line, his eyes trained on the door to their tent.

Williams and the others filed out almost half a minute before Dago appeared. Hawkeye could see the man's exhaustion even from this distance and he dropped his head in shame, unable to look at the chaplain as Dago managed his way next to him.

"Hawkeye…what happened?" Dago asked quietly, his hand lightly grasping Hawkeye's upper arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," Hawkeye choked, angry tears stinging his eyes.

"Why? For what?"

"John Mulcahy, step forward." A voice called from the front of the group and Dago looked up in surprise and trepidation. He heard Hawkeye swear beside him, muttering over and over that he was sorry. The lines in front of him parted like the red sea until he was staring into Colonel West's bloodthirsty eyes. Dago gave Hawkeye's arm a light squeeze, not blaming him for whatever had happened, then focused on moving himself forward. His legs felt like they were filled with lead and it seemed to take hours for him to move to the front of the lines.

"It seems your friend feels you deserve special treatment, Father. He seems to be under the impression that he can make demands."

Dago said nothing, merely listening to the colonel as he berated Hawkeye's audaciousness in front of the entire camp. West strutted self-importantly back and forth in front of the group of men, reminding Dago of a very fat, very unattractive peacock. When he stopped in front of the chaplain, his eyes were narrowed.

"Tell me, Father, do you feel you deserve special treatment?"

"No, sir." Dago answered, his voice quavering slightly.

"Then why do you think Pierce feels you do?"

"I can't know his reasons, Colonel. I can only guess at them."

"Then guess." The colonel demanded gruffly, leaning in close to Dago's face.

Dago opened his mouth to speak, but found no words.

The colonel began to strut again. "We have rules here; one of those rules is that you understand your place as prisoners. You do not have any rights or freedoms in this camp that are not explicitly granted to you. Perhaps I did not make myself clear to you and Doctor Pierce this morning. Since he seems to be motivated by you, his punishment will be doled out on you. Perhaps this way he will learn."

Dago felt his heart hammering in his chest as West stalled intentionally, moving to the back of the line where Hawkeye was looking at him murderously.

"20 lashes and a day in the hole." West spat.

Two guards seized Dago's arms, dragging him forward to what looked like a tall hitching post. There was a heavy rope that had been nailed high on the post and the guards wrapped Dago's wrists tightly in the rope. He winced as it dug into the raw and bruised skin.

"No…please…" he found himself begging them for mercy as one of them retrieved a long whip-like chord. Over his shoulder he could see West approaching, the guards handing him the whip.

"Don't do this!" Hawkeye cried out from the back. "Punish me! I was the one who did wrong!"

West looked at him coldly. "You've just raised the punishment to 50 lashes, Doctor Pierce. Would you care to add more?"

A look of horror marred Hawkeye's young face, but he said nothing more. Dago could feel the thrum of anticipation from the others in the camp as they looked on the morbid curiosity. West gave the whip a test crack, making the priest jump and cringe, but before he was fully ready, West cracked the whip against his back.

The chaplain screamed in pain, feeling the skin of his back tear from the stinging, fire-like lashes. There was no mercy from the colonel, who seemed to bring the whip back across him immediately in a crisscross pattern. Dago dug his fingers into the post in front of him as tears coursed down his face. He wondered if there was any part of his back that hadn't been cut to ribbons, and he knew they were only ten lashes in.

Hawkeye felt violently ill as he was forced to watch the colonel give Dago 50 lashes. He could see crimson staining the back of Dago's shirt, and even some of the linen material had been ripped through, revealing the broken flesh beneath. Dago's primal screams of agony echoed through the camp and Hawkeye watched the priest's legs give way under him. His arms jerked in the socket as the rope binding his wrists caught at the slack. Still, West wailed on Dago's back, making sure to get at every inch of skin he could. When he finally reached the last lash, West was breathing hard and the only audible sound in the camp was Dago's sobbing.

The guards stepped forward and unbound the chaplain's wrists, letting him fall the rest of the way to the ground, where he lay motionless, but conscious. West handed the whip to one of the guards as he stood over the incapacitated man.

"Take him to the hole."

Dago groaned in pain as each arm was tugged upwards by a guard, lighting another agonizing fire across his back as the skin pulled around the wounds. Unable to get his feet under him, the guards simply drug him away from the others, across the compound, and down a flight of steps that had been cut into the earth.

From what Dago could see through his torment-induced delirium, the hole was very much was Williams had described. A cave-like hole dug in the dirt no bigger than a broom closet. There was no structure to support an actual door, so once the guards had tossed him into the hole, they slid a heavy plank of wood over the opening, blanketing him in total darkness. With his back already against the far wall, and the wooden door less than two feet in front of him, Dago reached his arms to the side—encountering dirt less than half his arm span away. This wasn't a hole…it was a coffin.

Panic began to settle over the priest, bleeding into the lingering pain in his back and he began to scream in absolute terror, horrified that he would run out of air before they let him out, or that the ground might cave in. Dago's body began to tremble from the combination of fear and pain and he felt a warm wetness leaking down his leg. Belatedly, he realized he was urinating on himself and the humiliation only added to his agony. Tucking himself in as tightly as possible, Dago managed to wedge himself into a corner, curling into a ball.

With nothing else to do, and no other comfort available to him, Dago began to recite the Lord's Prayer in Latin.

"Pa—Pater noster," he whimpered brokenly as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from _MASH_ (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

* * *

Minutes began to tick by into hours until Dago had lost all concept of time. Though his tears had dried, and his prayers were now spoken with barely more than a whisper, the pain still lingered at the edge of his consciousness. As he hunched in the corner, Dago was neither awake nor asleep—slipping instead into a mild state of catatonia.

His mind was filled with dreadful thoughts—thoughts that he and Hawkeye would die in this place, or that something even worse awaited them beyond the barbed wire fences. He wondered what more he would endure; what cruelty West would show to him and the others. How many men had been arrested and put here? How many of them had died from exposure, or malnutrition, or injury? How would he and Hawkeye ever get out of here alive?

Dago felt hopeless. Even his faith—which had always been his rock—was little comfort to him now. God could no more save him from this Hell than Henry could. Yet still, the chaplain prayed. He prayed for peace and for guidance; he prayed for mercy; he prayed for anything he could think of, but for the first time in his life, prayer felt absolutely useless.

His prayers gradually died off and his mind quieted, leaving him in a black void. Somewhere in a very deep, dark part of himself, Dago knew that this was what nothingness felt like. This was life without hope—life without God—and he felt himself sinking into a pit of despair. He felt it closing over his head like water, dragging him down into the icy depths…

When the wood plank of a door was finally pulled back from the entrance to the hole, Dago shied away from the faint light that had filtered down from the stairwell as it stung his photosensitive eyes, but he otherwise made no move. Though he'd known he'd only be in the hole for a day, he'd somehow convinced himself that he would die in there, and he wanted to tell the guards to close it back up and leave him there until the job was done. Instead, he got a rough kick to the ribs.

"Get up." The guard grumbled.

Groaning, Dago slowly uncurled his arms from around himself, clawing at the dirt walls to pull himself upright. The muscles in his legs protested under the weight, tingling with pins and needles from the lack of movement over the last 24 hours, but he managed to stay on his feet. Though he was weary and weakened, he followed the guard out of the hole, leaning heavily against the dirt walls and taking the stairs carefully until they reached the top.

The sun was setting and many of the men were milling about the courtyard, stopping to stare as Dago emerged from the hole. He shaded his eyes as he stood at the top of the stairs. For a long moment, the chaplain simply stared at the sun as if he'd never seen it before. It burned his eyes, making them tear up, but he was certain he'd never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life. As the tears cut wet paths down his dirty cheeks, he heard one of the guards scoff beside him.

"Pissed himself in the hole, now he's crying like a sissy."

"Leave him alone." A familiar voice growled. Dago slowly looked over to see Hawkeye reach up and take his arm, his angry eyes softening as they shifted from the guard to the priest. "Come on, babe; let's get you cleaned up."

Hawkeye slowly led Dago over to the shower stall, where one of the men from their tent brought a towel and Dago's fresh set of clothing. The doctor gently pulled Dago's shirt off of him, mindful of where the linen had become almost glued to the wounds on his back by the blood. Dago winced, crying out softly in pain as the shirt pulled free, and Hawkeye murmured his apologies as he tossed the shirt to the ground and helped Dago out of his boots, trousers, socks and undershorts.

Feeling as though he no longer had a modicum of dignity, Dago sulked his way into the stall and felt Hawkeye reach around him to tug the chain that would let the water fall. As the drops rained down over his head, Dago closed his eyes. The empty, hopeless feeling that had consumed him in the hole was still gnawing at his gut, making him tremble with despair, and—like glass under a hammer—the priest shattered.

Bursting into heart wrenching sobs, Dago sank down to his knees in the stall, covering his face with his hands as he wept in anguish. He turned his face up towards the heavens, water splashing onto his dirty, tear-stained face. "Why have you forsaken me?" Dago cried out to God.

Hawkeye felt his eyes burn with tears of remorse. He had done this to Dago, though certainly not intentionally. A chill ran through him as he listened to the chaplain calling out to his god. There was something…broken…about the way the man sounded, and Hawkeye was at a loss on what to do.

Dago wept until he could weep no more, his breath coming in hiccupping gasps as he'd finally exhausted himself entirely. He was wet, but no cleaner than he'd been before he'd gotten into the stall. Hawkeye finally sank down on his haunches next to Dago and tentatively laid a hand on the man's shoulder, unsurprised when Dago flinched.

"It's okay, babe…it's just me." He murmured. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can get some rest."

Dago nodded and allowed Hawkeye to pull him to his feet, taking a few deep breaths to try and compose himself. "I'm sorry." He whispered, barely audible.

Hawkeye wet a piece of soap and lathered it between his hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Dago. I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

Dago winced as Hawkeye gently ran a soapy hand over his tender back. The priest craned his head over his shoulder as far as he could, trying to see his what it looked like, but could only catch a small glimpse of the angry red and purple streaks that lined his back at odd angles ."How bad is it?"

"Some of the cuts are deep…I guess in the places where he hit you more than once. The skin is very bruised, though, so you'll probably be sore for a while… As long as we keep the open cuts clean, they shouldn't get infected…which is what I was worried about." The doctor paused, then quietly asked. "How are your hands?"

Dago gave a soft, humorless laugh as he looked at his hands, blistered and abraded from heaving the pickaxe. The lingering soreness in his palms seemed but a mockery at this point. "I'm sure they won't be what kills me."

Hawkeye glanced up at the priest's sardonic tone. Such bitterness was so out of place for the pious man. It added another knot of guilt in his stomach, and he passed the soap to the chaplain. "Here, babe, wash yourself up; drink a little of the water, too. West made sure we'd all eaten before he released you, so I'm sure he won't do you any favors and you're already dehydrated enough."

Dago opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, letting the water catch and absorb before he tilted his head back and let it collect at the back of his throat before he swallowed. He lathered himself down with the soap, feeling the sting of his sunburn as he rubbed the lather through his hair. As he washed his face, he could feel the scrape of whiskers on his cheeks and chin. Having not shaved since they were taken from the 4077th, Dago knew that soon he'd be almost as unrecognizable as the other men in the camp. Even Hawkeye, who was rarely ever clean shaven, looked unkempt. He supposed, all things considered, facial hair was the least of his problems, and decided to let it go.

Hawkeye handed Dago the towel as soon as he was done rinsing off, and the chaplain gingerly patted himself dry before pulling on the clean set of clothing and his boots, then he docilely followed Hawkeye back to their tent. The doctor reached under his bunk and picked up his own clean shirt, placing it next to the priest as Dago sat on his cot.

"What's this?"

"A bit of food." Hawkeye told him. "I saved my bread from the meals, and some of the other guys pitched in too. If West finds out, he'll probably hang us for it, but…well…fuck him."

Dago unwrapped the small hunks of bread, looking up at Hawkeye and the others, who were hovering nearby. "Thank you…all of you."

Hawkeye rested his hand on the top of Dago's head, gently stroking his damp hair much in the way he would with one of his children, but it somehow felt appropriate in that moment. "Eat up, babe. I'm sorry it's not much."

Dago tore off a small piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, letting whatever saliva he had moisten it so that it became soft enough to swallow without scratching his throat. Hawkeye moved to his own bunk, kicking off his boots as he laid back, propping himself up on one arm. The priest could feel the doctor's curious, and pitying, gaze upon him, and could almost feel Hawkeye's desire to ask what it had been like in the hole.

Breaking the silence between them as he tore off another piece of bread, Dago spoke softly, catching Hawkeye off guard. "You don't want to know, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye carefully spoke, "I have to know, Dago… To see you like this…I can't bear it."

Dago could hear the anguish in Hawkeye's voice. He knew that telling Hawkeye of the experience would only make the burden harder for the other man to bear. Truth be told, Dago just wanted to forget about the hole; about the nothingness that had consumed him…and continued to gnaw at him. He felt a coldness deep in his bones that no amount of heat would ever warm again. God had abandoned him in his time of need.

John Mulcahy had always been steadfast in his faith in God; he'd never questioned God's will or the reason things happened…he'd simply accepted them as part of life. All men had their own trials to endure, tests of faith, winding paths of hardship or suffering. However, he had also never doubted God's mercy and compassion; his promise to never make man bear a yoke that was too much a burden. God had broken that promise with Dago. Had He even heard Dago cry out? Had He heard his prayers? Dago didn't want to believe that God could be so cruel, but why, then, had He not comforted him? That was all Dago had asked for, surely it hadn't been too much.

For the first time in his life, a seedling thought had been planted in his brain, and the roots seemed to reach down into that cold void deep in his gut. _There is no God. _

Wrapping up the rest of bread, Dago placed the bundle at the end of Hawkeye's bunk, not meeting the other man's eyes as he felt that coldness seeping into his veins. "I'm tired, Hawkeye…I—I just want to sleep."

"Alright, babe…" Hawkeye said in a soothing voice that rolled over the priest like warm honey.

Dago wanted to cocoon himself in the comfort it brought him, and slid his boots off his feet as he gingerly laid on his side, facing away from everyone else in the room. He could feel Hawkeye's gentle gaze on him as he closed his eyes, and it made him feel safe, though he dreaded the dreams that might come to him in the night. Sinking into the exhaustion, Dago gave over to real sleep for the first time since their arrest.

* * *

Hawkeye watched Dago sleep for a long while. Now that he was cleaned up, he wasn't sure if the priest looked better or worse. The bridge of his nose where the bone had been broken was swollen and mottled with deep purple, the cut over his lip was scabbed under the stitches he'd put in. From the top of his head to the line of the collar around his neck, the skin was a deep red. Hawkeye, too, was sunburned, though not as badly as the fairer skinned chaplain.

"Hey, Pierce," Williams called, breaking his reverie. "Why don't you come over and play a hand with us?"

Hawkeye noticed for the first time that the other men in the tent had somehow gotten their hands on a deck of cards and Williams was dealing them out in a game of five card stud. Casting another look at Dago to make sure the priest hadn't stirred, Hawkeye moved over to sit next to Williams on one of the bunks.

"Where'd you get the deck?"

"Kep'em in mah boot," Sully said with a deep southern drawl that could have rivaled Duke's. "They never searched 'em, so I got to keep 'em."

"What's with you and the Padre, Pierce?"

"What do you mean?"

"You two just seem a little…close is all."

"We're not lovers, if that's what you're insinuating," Hawkeye said, matter-of-factly as he picked up his cards. "He's like a brother to me—younger, though he's the older one. He's simple and naïve—not stupid, mind you; just…innocent. It's my fault he's here and my fault West whipped him and stuck him in the hole. I'm just trying to protect him…but I've sure done a hell of a job so far."

"Word of advice," Ace offered. "Don't do him any favors. Any of the guards or West see you carrying his stuff around like you did yesterday, they'll make it all the worse for him."

"Don't ever go to West for favors," Zip added. "Here, the best thing you can do is be invisible."

"Yeah, show up for roll call and your work detail, but otherwise don't say nothin'." Mac agreed.

Hawkeye looked at Donovan, the only one in the group who hadn't spoken. "No friendly words of wisdom?"

Donovan held Hawkeye's gaze but said nothing. After a tense moment, Williams spoke up. "Donny doesn't say much these days. Not since West burned his tongue with a brand for asking for water."

"Why doesn't anyone do anything about this place?" Hawkeye asked, throwing down his cards in outrage. "This is like a goddamn concentration camp!"

"Give it up, Pierce; we're traitors…at least in their eyes. Why would anyone care what happens to us? As far as the American government is concerned, this is probably better treatment than we deserve."

"We could revolt. When we're out doing work detail. There's only ever 2 guards at most, we could overpower them and—"

"And then what?" Williams interrupted. "Where would we go? Back to our units? Back to the States? We'd either be turned back over to West or sent to Leavenworth in no time. There's only one word in your permanent file that anyone's going to care about, and that word is Communist."

"I'm not giving up." Hawkeye said resolutely, picking up his cards and silently vowing to himself that he and Dago would somehow walk out of there free men.

* * *

_Swing. Strike. Pull. Swing. Strike. Pull._ Again Dago found himself wielding the heavy pickaxe. This time, however, he'd taken a page from the book of experience and had torn stripes of cloth off his sheet to tie around his hands and help provide some protection against the rough grain of the wood handle.

His back was aching and sore, but the pain kept him from focusing on any one dismal thought for too long. He had to admit that he felt much better after a good night's rest—if he had dreamt, he certainly couldn't recall about what—but there was still an overwhelming sense of despair and hopelessness sitting heavy on the chaplain's heart. He could still feel that empty, cold void deep in his core. More than once he had looked towards the heavens as he'd wiped the sweat from his brow.

_Where are you, God? _He thought yet again.

"Fall in." The guard called as it approached the lunch hour.

Dago shouldered his axe, feeling the tightness in his arms from his worn and torn muscles. He felt Hawkeye fall in behind him and could feel the other man's body heat radiating against his back as Hawkeye leaned in close.

"You okay, Dago? You've been quiet today."

"I just don't have much to say, I suppose." Dago shrugged, his voice flat.

He felt the other man pull back slowly, obviously taken aback by the priest's indifference, but he couldn't find it in himself to apologize or make excuses. What did they have to talk about, after all? The weather? What they would have for lunch today? What kind of foul mood West would be in? Conversation seemed pointless when there was nothing positive to speak of.

When they reached the camp, Dago put his axe in the shed, then went over to the shower stall were several other men were washing their hands and faces. He waited his turn, unwrapping the bandages from his hands, then washed up before going to their tent for a few minutes rest before roll call. As he wrapped clean strips of cloth around his hands, Hawkeye sat next to him on his cot.

"Are you upset with me?"

"No." Dago said simply.

Hawkeye shifted uneasily. "Then tell me what's going on, Dago. This…this isn't like you."

"How should I be, Hawkeye?" The chaplain shot back with a bristled tone. "Over the last few days I have been beaten, kicked in the face, thrashed, starved, sunburned, and stuck in what felt like a grave. I have been so terrified that I quite literally urinated on myself. I have cried out to God for mercy, and he has ignored my prayers, leaving me wondering at this point if He even truly exists; for if He does, how could he let these horrors happen? Not simply to me, but to all His children—whether it be in this camp or elsewhere. I understand that suffering is a part of life, but not this. This is more than just suffering. This is inhumane, and if this _is_ by God's design then…then I hate Him."

The last part was muttered softly, but there was so much conviction in the words that Hawkeye felt goosebumps erupt on his arms. Hawkeye had always considered Dago to be so strong in his faith that nothing could shake it from him. He'd had his first glimpse of Dago's vulnerability, however, when they'd been in the cell at HQ. To hear the priest now questioning the very existence of his God made Hawkeye feel sick to his stomach.

He didn't know what to say. Never having had much use for God, Hawkeye often mocked those that took their faith too seriously, but for some reason he _needed_ Dago to keep his faith. Hawkeye reached over and gently wrapped his fingers loosely around Dago's still-bruised wrist—the least injured part of his body.

"I'm no expert, babe; but I think it's okay to be angry with God. Maybe if you're angry he'll know you mean business."

"It's not just that," Dago said, sounding ashamed of his admission. "There's so much injustice in this world. I keep thinking about the crucifixion of Jesus, and how God did not intervene in that matter, despite His Son calling out for mercy. If God would let Him suffer…what hope do the rest of us have? If Jesus was sent to suffer and die on the cross, who's to say we weren't meant to suffer and die in this camp? And if that's the case, why should we even try and fight to survive?"

"Because we're not traitors. We don't deserve to be here; no one does." Hawkeye squeezed Dago's wrist. "I'm not going to let you give up—on anything, especially God."

Dago looked at his companion with hollow eyes, but before he could reply, the bell tolled outside. He sighed and pulled his wrist free of Hawkeye's grasp. "Our master beckons."

Hawkeye helped to tie off Dago's bandages before the two of them headed out to the courtyard for roll call. Dago vaguely listened to the guard go down the list of names, muttering when his own was called before falling silent again. When the last name was checked off, however, they were not immediately dismissed. Instead, West stood at the front between two guards, looking over them with disdain.

"Mulcahy, Pierce…you two remain; the rest of you, go to lunch."

Dago's stomach knotted at the words and he felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. What would West do to them now? His mind reeled over the gruesome possibilities as the others scampered off towards the mess tent for lunch. West approached, his eyes narrowed as he looked both men over.

"Follow me."

The two men cast a weary glance at one another but followed the colonel as he headed for his office. As they passed through the door, the back of two heads came into view, sitting comfortably in front of the colonel's desk. The men turned in their seats as West, Hawkeye and Dago entered the room and Dago felt tears well up in his eyes at the sight of Henry and General Hammond. A spark of hope ignited in his chest.

Hawkeye would have kissed both Hammond and Henry had West not been standing there, continuing to lord over them. He could see the anger creasing Henry's face and the surprise in the general's at the sight of their bruised faces and sunburnt skin.

Henry stood first. "You boys alright?"

"In a manner speaking," Hawkeye said, still aware that West was in the room.

"Thank you, Colonel," Hammond said in a gruff voice. "We can take it from here."

West gave a disgruntled glare to each man before he left his office, and Dago could no longer contain his tears, covering his face with one hand as he broke down in front of the two senior officers. Henry came over and placed his hand on the chaplain's shoulder.

"Come sit down, Padre…you look like you could use a little rest."

"Thank you, Colonel." Dago sniffed, gently wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Tell me you can get us out of here, Henry." Hawkeye asked, once Dago was settled in the chair.

"We're working on it," Hammond was the one to answer. "The CIA's got top level security clearance on this whole operation. I had to pull some strings just to get us some face time."

"I've been in touch with your family, Pierce. Your wife is concerned, of course, but says that so far there has been no contact on her end by the CIA. Padre, I've also contacted the military vicar's office and informed them of the situation. They're doing what they can to contact Rome and hopefully get a papal sanction that will clear you, but in the meantime, General Hammond and I are doing everything we can to bring you boys home."

"Thank you, Colonel." Hawkeye said thickly.

"There's a lot of red tape to cut," Hammond said. "But we're working on it. You boys hang in there."

"That's easier said than done," Dago sniffed sardonically. Hawkeye could see the surprise cross Henry's face.

"I think West feels that the fall of the Nazi's left an opening for a true martinet." Hawkeye told them. "They've just about beaten the faith out of Dago in less than a week."

The chaplain looked up at him without argument, a miserable gaze coming from his haunted eyes. Henry shifted uncomfortably.

"I will get you boys out of here," he said determinedly, "if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

The visit had been all too brief for Dago's liking, but when Henry and Hammond left, the hope remained with him. He and Hawkeye stood in the middle of the compound, watching the jeep roll out with their commanding officer. Dago glanced over at Hawkeye and could see the doctor's jaw working nervously.

"Do you think they'll actually be able to get us out?"

"I dunno," Hawkeye said. "I hope so, but if Hammond's right and the CIA's got this place wrapped up tighter than the asshole of a dolphin…I just dunno."

"We have to believe they can." Dago said. "We have to have…"

Hawkeye looked at the priest as he paused, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Faith?"

Dago shrugged meekly.

"So you're not still doubting the existence of God?"

"I don't think I ever really did," the chaplain said quietly. "I was just…bitter. But I still feel angry with Him. I shouldn't…but I do."

Hawkeye put his arm gently around the priest's shoulders. "Come on, baby. Let's go get some lunch."

"Hold it right there, you two." West's voice barked as he came storming towards them. "I don't know what game you're playing at by having those two officers come here, but I won't tolerate this. You are _prisoners_. You are _traitors._ And your asses are mine. Do you understand?"

"You're not worried, are you Colonel?" Hawkeye said, dropping his arm from around Dago. "Worried you might have some innocent men in this camp? If you're not, you should be."

"One more word out of you, Pierce, and you'll be sorry."

"Come on, Hawkeye…let it go."

"Stay out of this, Dago." Hawkeye advanced on West. "I've had enough of you bullying everyone. When word gets out how you treat your prisoners, you and Grayson are history."

"Is that so?" West and Hawkeye were now standing toe to toe, a murderous look on each of their faces. Dago instinctively took a step back.

"You're damn right."

West laughed coldly, standing there in front of Hawkeye, then sucker punched the doctor in the groin. Hawkeye doubled over breathless, his hands shielding his privates as he dropped to one knee. Dago winced sympathetically.

"Apparently you are a slow learner, Dr. Pierce." He bent low and grabbed a handful of Hawkeye's hair, wrenching his head back until their eyes met. "Do not toy with me, you twit. The things I have done thus far are nothing compared to the things I _could_ do. There are a thousand ways to break a man's spirit. One way or another I will crush you. And until I do, your friend will continue to suffer with you."

Hawkeye glared up at West who finally released his hair and straightened himself.

"The two of you will spend the rest of the afternoon out here in the courtyard. You will each hold a bucket of water in your hands and hold your arms outstretched. The first man to spill even one drop will spend the next three days in the hole." West smiled wickedly. "It's a little thing I call 'T' Time."

West called for the guards to bring pails of water and Dago helped Hawkeye to his feet.

"I'll drop my buckets first," Hawkeye was saying. "I'm not letting you spend another second in the hole."

"It's okay," Dago murmured. "You're more claustrophobic than I am. I've already been in there. I know what it's like."

"Yeah and I saw you when you came out, Dago…I can't do that to you again."

"Silence!" West called, shoving a bucket into each of their hands. The full buckets weighed at least ten pounds, and Dago knew this was going to be the most physically demanding thing he had ever done in his life. "Even if you drop your buckets, you will remain out here with your arms out until I dismiss you. Understood?"

"Yes, Colonel." Dago answered.

Hawkeye said nothing and West's angry gaze fell on him. Hawkeye glared. "Of course, Colonel."

"Arms up." West called.

Dago sucked in a breath and raised his arms out to the side until they were parallel with the ground and he was in a perfect 'T' formation. He could already feel his muscles shaking from the strain and he eyed the waterline in his buckets carefully, making sure no water spilled over the lip. He glanced to Hawkeye, seeing the Doctor also straining to maintain the position with the added weight.

West gave another wicked smile. "I'll be back to check on you in an hour."

When the two men were alone again, save for one guard who had been ordered to stand watch over them, Hawkeye growled low in his throat. "Dago, you're the leading authority on hell-worthy crimes, right?"

"I wouldn't say leading," Dago panted. "But…why?"

"If I kill West, would I go to Hell?"

Dago thought for a long moment, his arms burning and shaking. "No. I think in this case, it would be justified."

"Good," Hawkeye barked. "Because when Henry gets us out… I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."

* * *

The sun beat down on Dago and Hawkeye as they stood in the courtyard, minutes slowing ticking by. Sweat poured down the chaplain's face and trickled down his back as he struggled to keep his arms up and out straight. The men had finished lunch and had gone back out on work detail, and any minute West would come along to check on them.

"Hawk… I don't know how much longer I can do this." Dago said dryly.

"Me either." Hawkeye said through gritted teeth. "Let me drop mine first, Dago."

"What do you suppose he'll do if we drop them together?"

"I dunno." Hawkeye panted. "I'm sure he'd think of something. Wanna chance it?"

"At this point…what have I got to lose?"

"Alright, when he comes out here, I'll count to three and we drop the buckets."

"Deal." Dago said, his arms feeling as though they were going to fall off.

They waited for West to emerge from his office, then Hawkeye began the countdown. One three, they released their hold on the buckets, which clattered nosily to the ground. West halted for a fraction of a second, surprised, then angered, by their insolence. He advanced on both of them with fire in his eyes.

"So, I see the two of you really are thick as thieves. Well, if you want to do everything together, so be it." West paused for effect. "Take them _both_ to the hole."

Dago felt anxious about being in the hole again, especially with an added body, but if there was any good to this punishment, it was that he wouldn't be alone this time.

The guards took them down, shoving the priest in face first, then Hawkeye in behind him. When the door slid into place, it became obvious just how little room there was in the hole. Dago was pressed against the dirt wall so tightly that he couldn't turn around. Judging by how hard Hawkeye was pressed against his back, he could only assume the doctor was wedged between himself and the door. The darkness surrounded them, cutting off light and sound and everything beyond the hole.

Dago could feel Hawkeye's breath—hot and quick—on his neck and knew the doctor was about to hyperventilate, much the way the priest nearly had the first time he'd been in there. "It's okay, Hawkeye…just take a deep breath."

"I have to get out," Hawkeye said, shifting his body to try and turn around. The movement only further pushed Dago against the dirt wall.

"Hawkeye!" he cried as his cheek scrapped against the wall. "Stop it! Stand still!"

"Let me out!" Hawkeye yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls and piercing Dago's eardrums. He felt his ears ringing, but couldn't move his arms up to clamp his hands over his ears. "LET ME OUT!"

"Hawkeye!" Dago cried out again, feeling himself going deaf from the other man's screams. Hawkeye quieted, but was still panting behind him. "It's okay. Just...hold onto me…you'll be okay."

He didn't know what good it would do for the other man to hold onto him, but he had nothing else to offer the doctor. Still, Hawkeye's arms encircled him tightly, crushing his body even more firmly against his. He could feel Hawkeye wracking with sobs, the tears soaking his shirt where Hawkeye pressed his face against Dago's shoulder. Dago's back twinged in pain at the contact, but he ignored it.

"It'll be okay." Dago said gently. "At least we're together right?"

"Three days, Dago… I can't do this…" Hawkeye sniffled.

"You can; _we_ can. Don't think about it, Hawkeye. Think about something else."

"Like what?"

"Anything... Tell me about your wife."

"Why do you want to know about her?" Hawkeye cried, still clinging to the priest's back.

"Tell me how you met her." Dago said, ignore the doctor's question.

Hawkeye took several ragged breaths, but then started to tell Dago about how he'd met his wife in high school, and how they hadn't started dating until their senior year. Gradually, Hawkeye's hold on him started to lessen, and though the doctor was still very tense, Dago could feel him start to come down from his panic attack.

The priest listened to Hawkeye, prompting him to go on whenever he paused longer than a few seconds. He knew that they would be down here a very long time, but so long as they were talking, it didn't seem like it would be too bad. He felt hungry, and knew he would grow even hungrier, but he couldn't think of that. It felt strange to think that in the past week, Dago could count the meals he'd had on one hand, but he tried not to think of that either.

Hawkeye eventually grew quiet, having come to a natural stop in his story, and he gently rested his head on the priest's shoulder again. "Fuck."

"What's the matter?" Dago asked with sincere concern.

"I gotta piss."

"Oh…" The priest said softly, then sighed. "You're going to have to go eventually, Hawkeye…might as well not hold it."

"I'd rather not have to piss on you, Dago."

"Yes, I would much prefer that, but we don't have much of a choice either."

"Maybe I can…" Hawkeye wedged his arm between them, worming it down between his legs and fumbling with his trousers until he managed to free himself. Dago tried to press himself even further into the wall to give Hawkeye a little more room, then heard the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the dirt floor. He realized Hawkeye must be managing to aim it straight down, and silently thanked him for that. He felt a small jiggle as Hawkeye shook himself off, then the rummaging about as the doctor refastened his trousers with one hand. "Sorry if I splashed you."

"It's alright."

Hawkeye sighed wearily, his breath once again on the priest's neck. "What do we do now?"

"I guess we just…wait."

Another hot breath blew against the priest's neck. "Alright…well…I suppose this is as good time as any."

"For what?"

"For you to tell me how you came to be in the goddamn army in the first place."

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from _MASH_ (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

WARNING: A bit of smut to be had in this chapter. I couldn't resist with their bodies pressed together... Enjoy.

* * *

Time seemed to have come to a grinding halt as the chaplain and the doctor stood together like sardines in the hole. The slight conversation had made the air hot and stale around them, and Dago felt himself growing ever more afraid that they were going to run out of oxygen before West let them out.

"Maybe we ought to stop talking, Hawkeye," he had suggested, trying not to sound frantic, least he send the other man into another panic. The doctor had agreed, muttering about being tired and pondering if he could sleep standing up, but had ultimately gotten quiet. If it weren't for his steady breathing across the priest's neck, or the heat of his body against his back, Dago might wonder if Hawkeye was even there at all.

But the topic had gotten Dago's mind wandering as he remembered just what had led him into the army. He'd been a missionary priest before becoming a chaplain and had spent time in places like Brazil and China and Tibet. That had been during the Second World War, when he was fresh out of seminary and eager to spread the Good News with the rest of the world. He'd love missionary work—meeting the people, visiting new places, living a simple life. But he'd felt called to something else. The world around him was so full of anger and chaos and war, that Dago knew he needed to do more. Perhaps becoming a chaplain was simply to prove that no amount of violence or destruction of disregard for human life could change the goodness in him. It had been a goodhearted gesture, but a foolish one. War was ugly, and the words of God he quoted fell upon deaf ears. He was mocked, ridiculed, or all together ignored by the very people he was meant to minister to. And now he was imprisoned for doing his duty and protecting his flock. And he had been changed.

Dago sighed and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the dirt wall. Guilt surfaced within him. How could he have given up on God so easily? Certainly there was cruelty in this place, but who was he to expect the Almighty to come and save him when God had sent his own Son to die for humankind? Jesus was the messiah; Dago was simply a man. He silently prayed for forgiveness, owning to a moment of mental, physical and spiritual weakness.

Hawkeye's weight shifted against his back, and the doctor rested his head on Dago's shoulder. The priest knew that if Hawkeye wasn't asleep, he was certainly on the verge of it. He was glad that he had managed to calm Hawkeye down, though he wasn't sure how long it would last. Three days was a terribly long time to be trapped like this.

"This is surprisingly comfortable," Hawkeye said softly, the breath from his words tickling the hair at the base of Dago's skull. "I mean, my feet are killing me, and I still feel like a suffocating sardine, but otherwise you make a nice leaning post."

Dago chuckled softly. "I'm glad one of us is comfortable. I feel like I get a pound of dirt in my nose every time I take a breath."

"I'm sorry." Hawkeye said gently, then paused in thought. "You've got a smaller frame than I do, if I push back as far as I can, do you think you'd be able to turn around?"

"I highly doubt it. We're wedged in here pretty tight."

"Yeah, tell me about it." There was a slight edge to the words, alluding to the panic that lay just under Hawkeye's cool exterior. "Are you okay otherwise? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No, I'm okay. My back is still a bit sore, of course, but…I'll live."

Dago felt a rush of warm air against his neck as Hawkeye let out a heavy breath.

"So you've been a priest a long time, right?"

"All of my adult life." Dago affirmed. "I was an acolyte of the church growing up—starting at 7 when I became an altar boy."

"In times like this, do you ever regret things?" Hawkeye asked. "You know, like never having sex and such?"

"Not really," Dago said. "Being a virgin affords me the benefit of not knowing what I'm missing."

Hawkeye laughed softly. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. But then again…you don't know what you're missing."

Dago shrugged. "That could be said about many things."

"Yeah, but I know what I'm missing right now…I keep thinking of all the girls I could have had a chance with and how they might be in the sack."

"That seems like a fruitless line of thinking."

"Says you." Hawkeye said, obviously grinning. "Don't you find anyone at the Double Natural good looking?"

"Of course," Dago scoffed. "I'm a priest; I'm not blind."

"Yeah?" Hawkeye sounded surprised. "Who?"

"Oh, Hawkeye…really…" The chaplain sounded annoyed.

"Come on, Dago; it's not like I'm going to tell them."

"Everyone has some desirable quality, be it their looks or personality." The chaplain said diplomatically.

"Don't cop out; tell me specifically." Hawkeye needled. "Dish? You like her?"

"Lieutenant Schneider is a very attractive young woman, yes." Dago said properly. "But she's also a _married_ woman, Hawkeye. For me to think of her in any way beyond that would be wholly inappropriate."

"Okay, okay…" Hawkeye could hear that the chaplain was getting riled up by the line of questioning, and backed off. They still had far too much time stuck together in the hole for him to piss off the priest. He stayed silent for a while, trying to think of something else to talk about, and trying not to wish that it was Trapper or Duke he'd been stuck with instead of Dago. At least then he'd be free to talk about the more tawdry side of life. "How long do you think we've been in here?"

"A few hours, maybe." Dago said after a moment of consideration.

"Christ…" Hawkeye swore softly. "What did you do when you were in here before?"

There was a silence before the priest spoke in a barely audible whisper, "Went insane."

Hawkeye felt that wave of guilt wash over him again, remembering how the priest had broken down and shut himself off. He pressed his lips to the top of Dago's shoulder, more of a comforting gesture than an actual kiss. "I'm sorry."

"It's better this time…ironically." Dago told him. "At least I'm not alone. That was the worst part of it, I think."

"I keep trying to tell myself that at least we're not up there busting up rock." Hawkeye said. "With a window, a couple of beds and some fresh air, this would actually feel like a vacation."

Dago laughed softly. "You don't want for much, do you?"

"Well, if it was really a vacation, you'd be a beautiful woman, not a priest."

"Sorry to disappoint." Dago teased.

They lapsed once again into silence, losing themselves in their own thoughts as time continued to wear on. Dago shifted his weight from foot to foot as his feet started to ache from being in one place for too long. His stomach growled audibly, protesting the severe lack of food.

"I almost wish Henry would have come after lunch," Dago said. "I can count the number of meals I have in the past week on one hand."

"If you start feeling faint, let me know."

"I'm okay right now...just hungry."

Time continued to lapse as the men stood, growing ever more weary. The air was growing hotter and thicker with each exhalation, and it was becoming harder to think about anything beyond food, water, oxygen and sleep. Dago idly considered that he'd been fooling himself to think holding the buckets of water would be the most physically demanding thing, and found himself wishing he'd held out a little longer.

His stomach was cramping and gurgling painfully and his throat was dry, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. He wanted to sit down, wanted to sleep, but knew it would still be days before that would happen. The priest gave a soft cry of misery, and Hawkeye lifted his sleepy head off his shoulder.

"What's the matter, babe?"

"I feel like I'm going to die," Dago said shakily. He might have actually cried were he not so thoroughly dehydrated. "I'm tired…and hungry…and thirsty."

"I know," Hawkeye said gently, squeezing the priest's arm gently. "It'll be over soon."

"It won't," the priest argued forlornly. "Even when they let us out, it'll be like it was the first time—West will make sure everyone else has eaten. I've had two meals since I've been here, Hawkeye. _Two_. I'm so hungry."

"Shh…Dago..." Hawkeye wormed his arms around Dago, hugging him even closer in the cramped spaced. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

"It won't," the priest repeated again, clutching Hawkeye's arm tightly.

The doctor knew he had two options to keep Dago from melting down—knock him out, or try and get his mind off the pain. He didn't fancy doing the first option, mainly because he knew Dago would fall under his own weight, and then they'd be in a totally new world of discomfort. The second option required thinking, which Hawkeye was in no mood for. Then he remembered the basic needs of mankind—well, man anyways. Food, shelter, and sex. The third option, while still not ideal, and would certainly gain protest from the priest, seemed like the only course of action. Consequences be damned.

Hawkeye rested his head against Dago's, dropping his voice to a low murmur. "It's okay, baby." He nuzzled Dago's ear as he whispered sweet nothings and reassurances to the priest, one hand lightly running up and down the other man's chest. Daringly, he placed a whisper of a kiss just behind Dago's ear. Under his hand, he could feel the priest's pulse quicken, though his head lolled ever so slightly to the side.

The effect was working, Dago was starting to focus on the pleasure rather than the pains in the rest of his body, but he was also becoming aware of what was going on. "Hawkeye…what are you doing?" He asked, his voice soft and far-away sounding.

"Don't talk," Hawkeye whispered. "Just trust me."

Hawkeye's sultry voice, coupled with the heat of their bodies, was slowly putting the priest into a trance. He felt Hawkeye's lips again, just behind his ear, followed by the gentle flick of a tongue on skin. He shivered slightly and opened his mouth to protest, but a soft cry of pleasure bubbled out of him instead.

"No…" he said weakly, as Hawkeye's hand slipped down his body. "No, please. Stop."

Hawkeye stilled his hand over Dago's abdomen, redoubling his effects to seduce the man by kissing his neck. Dago's skin tasted of salty sweat and dirt, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant. He nipped the skin lightly and grazed Dago's earlobe with his teeth, eliciting another soft cry. He felt the priest's hand reach back and grasp his thigh, and Hawkeye resumed his slow track down the man's torso.

Dago's pants were loose enough at his waist that Hawkeye could easily slip his hand beneath the waistband, lightly fondling the priest through his boxers. He was moderately surprised to find that Dago was semi-aroused, and even more surprised to find that it excited him in turn. He gave a low, soft moan, pressing his lips to Dago's ear.

"That's it, baby. Just close your eyes and relax." His hand worked into the opening of the boxers, pulling Dago's cock free as he wrapped his fingers around the swollen member.

"No." Dago said again, though his body was saying yes. "Stop it. Stop. It. Oh…Hawkeye…"

Hawkeye had begun to gently stroke the priest, moving his hand up and down with practiced precision. His lips and tongue busied themselves across Dago's neck, teeth nipping here and there for added stimulation. He could feel his own cock throbbing in his trousers, and though he felt no attraction for Dago, he used his free hand to lightly pull the priest back against him, grinding himself on Dago's backside as he worked them both towards orgasm.

The priest's head fell back on Hawkeye's shoulder as he cried out, his hot seed spilling into Hawkeye's hand. Hawkeye continued to work his cock until every drop had been spent and the priest shuddered under his touch, then Hawkeye retrieved his hand from the priest's pants and shoved it down his own, grabbing his own cock and pumping it furiously until he, too, found his peak. He fell heavily against Dago's back as he came, groaning in pleasure and milking himself dry.

When Hawkeye finally came to his senses, he pulled his hand out, wiped it on his trousers and released a heavy, satisfied breath. He could feel Dago trembling before him, but knew it wasn't from pleasure. The priest was crying—or would have been if he'd had any water left in him for tears.

"It's okay, Dago…" Hawkeye said gently, placing his hands on the chaplain's shoulders.

"It's not okay," the priest choked on the words. "That was…_not_ okay. How could you, Hawkeye? How could you…"

Hawkeye rested his chin on Dago's shoulder, frowning contritely. He knew he shouldn't have, but honestly…what else was there to do? "Come on, babe…it wasn't all bad, was it?"

Dago took a shuddering breath, and to Hawkeye's surprise, answered with a very quiet, "no."

Hawkeye grinned despite himself. "There, ya see? I just wanted to take your mind off things for a while. Make you feel good for just a minute. And it worked, didn't it?"

A pause, then another soft reply, "Yes."

"It doesn't make us queers, Dago."

"You won't tell anyone…will you?"

"Exactly when would something like this come up in normal conversation? 'Ho-Jon, make me a martini. Oh, say Trapper, remember when I was in that prisoner camp? Yeah, I jacked off Dago Red while we were in the hole.' No, babe…I'm not going to tell anyone about this."

"I've never…you know…before." Dago admitted, shyly.

"Never what? Came?"

"Must you say it like that?" The priest chided, blushing furiously in the darkness.

Hawkeye chortled, "How would you prefer I say it?"

"I don't know…but…don't be so…crude."

"Never experienced sexual gratification." Hawkeye rephrased in words Dago might have used.

"Yes." The priest said dryly.

"Now you know what you're missing." Hawkeye grinned again.

"Yes," Dago repeated, sounding none-too-happy. "Thanks for that."

The sarcastic tone made Hawkeye laugh, despite his attempt not too. "Come on, babe. We're in the seventh circle of Hell, I think God will forgive a little foreplay, all things considering."

"Regardless…this entire experience has changed me, Hawkeye. Not simply what we did a moment ago. I've lost sight of God here. As a priest, that is the most unspeakable thing I can think of. I'm so…ashamed."

"Dago… You know where I stand on the religion thing, but I don't think you should be ashamed of anything. The things you've endured…I'd call you crazy if you weren't shaken by it."

"Still." Dago shrugged softly.

"Listen, when Henry gets us out, I'd say we earned some real R&R—I don't know about you, but I plan to complain to management about this place." Hawkeye nudged Dago, trying to elicit a laugh, but the priest just harrumphed quietly. "Anyways. Maybe you should…you know…go to talk to someone to sort things out."

"Yeah," the chaplain sighed. "I probably should. What about you?"

"Eh, I'm okay. Pissed off about what they're doing here, mad as hell what West and Grayson did to you, but I'll be alright. I just want to make sure this place gets shut down."

Dago sighed again, this time tiredly, and Hawkeye hugged him around the middle, angling them so they were wedged into a corner, supported by their combined weight and the wall.

"Close your eyes, babe," Hawkeye said gently. "Try and get some sleep."

"I don't think I can sleep standing up."

"You're not going anywhere; trust me."

The priest scoffed lightly. "You've said that before."

"And it worked out okay, didn't it?"

Dago grumbled something that Hawkeye couldn't quite make out, but as the priest settled back against him, he decided to let it go. He closed his own eyes, tucking his face in against Dago's neck, and held onto the priest as they both dozed off.

* * *

By the third day, Dago was so weakened from hunger and continued dehydration, that Hawkeye was truly fearful for the priest. He had become delirious, muttering incoherently at times; his lips were dry and cracked, and his body was so parched of fluid that Hawkeye could feel where it had shriveled and wrinkled. He was becoming dangerously ill, and Hawkeye knew that the only place the priest needed to be was a hospital.

_Fat chance._ He thought bitterly, holding on to the weakened man as if he were preserving Dago's life in his hands. He knew that once they were out of the hole, he was going to do whatever it took to get Dago some actual help. If West locked him away for a whole week, so be it. Dago would die if he went much longer without food or water.

When the door finally opened, it was dark outside and the breath of air that licked Hawkeye's face was as sweet as mother's milk. He gasped, drinking in the air greedily, not realizing how oxygen-deprived the hole had become. Dago was still in his arms, his eyes unfocused and somewhat glassy.

The guard took notice. "He alive?"

"Barely," Hawkeye grumbled. "He needs to go to a hospital or he's going to die."

"Bring him up." The guard said.

Hawkeye half dragged, half carried Dago out of the hole—the priest's body limp and frail in his arms, but somehow still quite heavy. Hawkeye knew that Dago's body had shut down in response to the starvation.

West was standing there, cigar clamped in bulldog jowls, eyeing Pierce and the priest. "What's wrong with him?"

"You're killing him." Hawkeye said. "He's had two meals since he's been in this goddamn camp, and probably just as much water."

"Take him the mess tent; get him some grub." West said dismissively.

"If I do that, it's likely to finish him off. His body won't be able to handle it. He needs to be in a hospital."

West stared at him for a long hard moment and Hawkeye counted the beats of his heart until West finally waved a guard over. "You know what to do."

Hawkeye tensed. What exactly were they going to do? "Colonel?"

"Get him to a jeep, Pierce; then get back to your tent."

"Where are you taking him?"

"That's none of your concern." West said, brushing ash off his shirt.

"Well, you see, it _is_ my concern, because I have no intention of letting you take him so you can just dump him somewhere to die."

"Get him to the jeep, Pierce, and get to your tent."

"So help me, Colonel, if you do _anything_ to Dago—"

"Get. To. Your. Tent." West growled.

Hawkeye helped get Dago settled into the back of a jeep so that he wouldn't be thrown out and grasped the priest's hand. "It'll be okay, babe."

Dago's eyes fluttered, meeting Hawkeye's for a brief second before the priest returned to his delirium. Hawkeye looked to the guard, not wanting to let Dago go, fearing the worst. "Where are you taking him? Please…I need to know."

The guard said nothing, simply sticking the jeep into gear and driving through the gates. Hawkeye watched the taillights as they faded out of sight down the long dark road. He had a sinking feeling that he'd just given his friend over for certain death, but there was nothing he could do. Whether Dago was forced to stay in the camp, or taken to wherever he was going, he would die without proper care. Hawkeye felt sick at the thought.

The last few days had been enough of a nightmare, as he's had to stand there, crammed in the hole with Dago, holding onto the priest as he slowly deteriorated. Hunger pains had turned into debilitating cramps, and Dago had been so parched that he couldn't speak without sending himself into a horrible coughing fit that left him dry heaving. All Hawkeye could do was be there and try to comfort Dago through touch and speech. The priest had seemed to grow weaker and weaker with each passing hour, falling in and out of consciousness, and finally into his present state where he seemed neither awake nor asleep. Hawkeye had wished a thousand times over that it had been him instead of Dago. While he, himself, was starving and dehydrated, he was nowhere near as bad off as the chaplain.

Stripping his shirt off over his head, Hawkeye moved towards the shower stall, pulling the chain as he stuck his face into the stream, lapping at the foul tasting water to try and rehydrate himself. He scrubbed his face and hair, washing off dirt and sweat, then did as he had been told and returned to his tent.

Williams and the others were playing a round of cards, but no one spoke as he ambled past them towards his cot. Too weary and weak to do much else, Hawkeye collapsed onto the bed, where his last conscious thought was of Dago.

* * *

Henry Blake had come to an impasse on trying to retrieve his doctor and priest from the prisoner camp. The official word was that Freedom Camp did not exist, and if it did, it was far beyond the scope of the Judge Advocate General.

"I need hard, physical evidence that your men are being mistreated, Henry." General Royce had told Blake as he'd visited HQ in Seoul. "If I start poking around and pointing fingers at the CIA without any proof, they'll cook my goose!"

"Clarence, my men were arrested and charged with treason. I visited that camp with General Hammond, I saw Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy with my own eyes! They were beaten, they were dirty, they were… Hell, Clarence, you know as well as I do that this smell rotten. The CIA has no right to police army officers. Investigate, interview, spy…that's their power."

"Look, Henry, I'm not saying that what you've told me hasn't happened, but _if_ the CIA has established a prison camp here and they _are_ mistreating the men, then we're going to be opening a very big can of worms. Besides, if they have been arrested on suspicion of treason, then there will be a trial. If they are found guilty, they could be in a lot of trouble."

"Well put me down as a character witness for both of them. They are not traitors. Pierce may be a lot of things, but a traitor isn't one of them." Henry leaned towards Royce with a hard look. "Come with me to the camp, General; see for yourself. Talk to my men. Put them on trial if you want, but get them out of there!"

As it was, Henry had gone back to the 4077th with only the promise that Royce would look into it, but still needed proof of foul play and mistreatment. Blake had called Hammond upon his return to see if the General could pull the same strings as before and get them back into the camp. This time, Henry would take Radar's camera.

Several days had passed with no word from Hammond. Henry felt like he was going out of his mind. How could the army let this happen? How could the camp simply not exist when Henry himself had been there? What the hell was going on in the world that the CIA was running covert military prisons?

It was still hours before dawn when Radar rushed into the colonel's tent, breathless, and shook Henry from a deep slumber. "What is it, Radar? I was having a beautiful dream about a gorgeous blonde—"

"I'm sorry sir," Radar cut him off. "General Royce is calling from Seoul. He said it's urgent."

Henry was out of bed in a flash, stuff his feet in his boots and throwing on his bathrobe as he reached for his glasses, barreling towards his office with Radar on his heels. "What'd the General say?"

"Just that it was urgent, sir. I asked how urgent, because I know you don't like to be woken up, sir, and he said urgent enough to make me a private if I didn't get you on the phone, sir."

"Thank you, Radar, put it through to my office." Henry went through the office door, and picked up the phone on his desk, knowing Radar would have already patched the call through. "Clarence? What have you got?"

"You better get up here right away, Henry." Royce said. "Remember that can of worms I told you about? It's been opened."

Royce wouldn't say anything more, but Henry hadn't wasted time in getting dressed. Radar had a jeep ready and waiting for him before he could even think to ask, and left instructions for Trapper to be in charge in his absence. With his unit taken care of, Henry headed back to Seoul, eager to find out what the General knew.

* * *

When day broke at Freedom Camp, before the bell tolled for roll call, the door to tent 3 slammed open and West barreled inside, his eyes fixed on Hawkeye in a murderous scowl.

"What have you done?" West demanded. "Where's my jeep and soldier? Don't lie to me, boy; I know you said something to him before he left last night. What was it!"

A glimmer of hope, shadow by a tinge of fear for Dago, shimmied up Hawkeye's spine. "How should I know? I only asked where he was taking Dago and he didn't even answer me. Maybe your lackeys are tired of doing your dirty work, Colonel. Especially if you sent a man out to kill a priest."

West looked ready to snap. "You've made a very _big_ mistake, Pierce. Kill him."

No one moved at West's orders, the guards standing stoic near the door, Williams and the others looking on with anxiousness. Hawkeye looked from West to his guards, then back at West, who looked livid. He swung towards the two guards.

"I said kill him!"

Neither man moved.

"You mutinous bunch of cowards," West spat. "Fine. I'll do it myself."

West pulled the pistol from the holder at his hip and cocked back the hammer, taking aim right between Pierce's eyes. Hawkeye slammed his eyes shut, his heart stuttering as his life flashed before his eyes. He thought of his dad, his wife, his two young boys. He thought of the life he'd had before this war, and lamented on the life he would never return to. He expected to hear the bang of the gun, feel the force of the bullet as it pierced through skin and bone and brain, but a voice rang out in the tent.

"Hold it right there."

Pierce opened his eyes to find Henry standing there with another man.

"Put the gun down, or I'll order these men to take you down instead." The man commanded.

Hawkeye dared to look back at West, who was still leveling the pistol at his head. He looked like an animal that had been cornered. Hawkeye could almost see what was about to happen just mere seconds before the colonel turned the gun on himself. Blake and the other man hollered out just as West pulled the trigger and fell to the floor dead. Hawkeye was up on his feet, kneeling over West, his fingers pressing against the pulse point in the colonel's neck though he knew it was too late.

"He's dead." Hawkeye declared, feeling a deep sense of justice at the words. He got to his feet looking at Henry with a baleful expression. "Dago…Henry, I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do…"

Blake crossed the room, looking down at West's body briefly as the other man ushered the rest of the men out of the tent, then placed his hand on Pierce's shoulder. "Dago's fine, Hawkeye. Or…he will be in a week or so."

"He's alive?" Hawkeye's eyes welled with tears that spilled down his cheeks at the news.

"One of guards was apparently ordered to kill him and toss his body in a mass grave, but instead he brought Dago to HQ and narced on West and this whole operation. It was the proof we needed to blow the lid on this place. Seems like we got here just in the nick of time."

"What happens now?" Hawkeye asked.

"A transport is here to take everyone back to HQ. From there, we're not quite sure yet."

"What d'you mean you're not quite sure?"

"This is a serious situation, Pierce."

"Yes, I figured that out a minute ago when West painted the walls with his blood." Hawkeye said flatly. "Don't give me that bullshit, Henry. Dago nearly died in this place for no reason at all. Every man here is innocent. None of us are traitors."

"I know that," Henry snapped back. "But now we have to prove that to get it off your permanent records. Far as we can tell, this was an illegal operation set up under the table by some government yakity yak in Washington who thought our boys were being corrupted by communists posing as Korean peasants. This is a big deal, Pierce, so can the sarcasm, will ya?"

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes slightly, but kept his mouth shut for a moment. "Can I at least see Dago?"

"I'll arrange it as soon as we're in Seoul, but he was unconscious when I saw him before we came up here." Henry put his arm around Hawkeye's shoulder, leading the doctor out to where the other men were already being loaded up in the transport. A wild cheer went up and Hawkeye saw the men beaming and pumping their fists in the air at the sight of him, obviously believing him to be responsible for their freedom. It felt good knowing that he had—somewhat—had a hand in bringing justice to this place, but he gave all credit to Dago, who had nearly given his life.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Thin Red Line

Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.

Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from _MASH_ (1970), the original film production.

In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW

* * *

Possibly the best thing about being freed from the Freedom Camp was the fact that all the men were housed together in a barracks, free to do as they pleased so long as they didn't go off base. Hawkeye had felt a cold dread at the thought of seeing Grayson here, remembering the hot, dark cells and the interrogation room, but the accommodations this time were much better. Each man had been issued new uniforms and their dog tags had been returned to them. They'd also each been given a shower kit, which Hawkeye took great pleasure in.

He had immediately gone for the showers, taking his time in bathing and shaving the scruff from his face, thoroughly scrubbing his skin clean. Next on the agenda was food. He had never been a fan of army food, but after a week of cabbage stew—and three days of absolutely nothing at all—Hawkeye would have eaten a shoe if it'd been presented to him and there had been enough ketchup. He made three trips through the chow line before he felt like he was going to pop, and finally called it quits for lunch.

Henry had disappeared shortly after their arrival, and Hawkeye had been told by some corporal that Blake and several others were in a meeting, but that Henry had given him a message to take Hawkeye over to the hospital wing where Dago was being kept. Hawkeye anxiously followed the corporal, thanking him briefly as they came to the large hospital wing. Several cots were taken up by wounded soldiers, but at the far end of the ward, a privacy screen had been set up. Hawkeye knew that must have been Dago's bed and he quickly headed for it.

Dago was, as Henry had said, unconscious, but he was alive. He was hooked up to an IV in one arm and plasma in the other. The nurses had obviously given him a sponge bath, and had removed the stitches in his lip, but they had not shaved him or washed his hair.

In the light of the ward, Hawkeye could see just how gaunt Dago was, his cheekbones prominent. There were dark smudges under Dago's eyes, alluding to the sleep deprivation he had endured over the last week, but the sunburn at least seemed to be healing. The skin of his nose and forehead was starting to peel, revealing new pink skin beneath and a hint of freckles.

"Would you like a chair?" A woman's voice asked.

Hawkeye turned to see a nurse and smiled at the sight of her pretty, young face. "Sure, honey, that'd be swell."

She smiled and trotted off, returning moments later with a metal folding chair. "He's doing much better than when he got here sometime last night. He seemed comatose, but he woke up a few hours ago for a minute or two."

"Did he say anything?"

"He asked for water. All we could give him was ice chips, though. The doctors wanted him on the saline and plasma for a while before we let him eat or drink anything." She gave Dago a pitying look. "They say he was tortured."

"He was." Hawkeye said quietly.

"Was it the Chinese?"

"No." He paused, looking from Dago to her. "It was our guys."

She looked horrified. "Our guys? You can't be serious!"

Hawkeye sat down, finding himself relaying the story from start to finish to the nurse. Her face went from disbelief, to shock, to outrage, before she finally looked down at Dago with tears in her eyes, then threw arms around Hawkeye's torso, leaning over him as she hugged him tightly. He couldn't help but grin as he felt her heavy bosom against him, having missed the sight and feel of beautiful girls whilst he was imprisoned. He felt somewhat guilty, knowing he hadn't come to the hospital wing to sneak off with a nurse; he was there to check on Dago.

He pat her gently on the back. "If you don't mind, I'd like a minute alone with my friend."

"Of course." She straightened and looked at him through her lashes. "If you need anything…just ask."

Hawkeye watched her saunter off, then shook his head and looked back at the sleeping chaplain. Dago's hand was draped across his stomach, and Hawkeye reached for it, gently taking it in his own. "Dago?"

The words were soft, but they stirred the priest. Dago slowly opened his eyes, looking up at Hawkeye sleepily. He looked confused for a long moment, then closed his eyes and tentatively licked his lips. "I must be dead."

"Why do you say that?"

"You haven't been clean shaven since I met you."

Hawkeye laughed heartily despite himself and squeezed Dago's hand. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired." Dago said, his voice weary. "Am I still in Seoul or did they send me back to Hell?"

"You're in Seoul; we all are. I'm not sure who to thank—you or the guard that brought you here—but…well, it's a long story. Let's just say the worst is over."

"I only remember bits and pieces of the last few days," Dago admitted. "I remember being in the hole, and then you telling me it would be alright. I…remember bodies. And the guard was arguing with himself. Then I woke up and I was here. Someone, a doctor maybe, told me was in the infirmary at HQ, but that's all I remember."

Hawkeye didn't want to tell Dago about the mass grave Henry had mentioned, and he could only assume that the guard had intended on killing Dago and dumping his body. He was grateful for whatever had stopped him from doing so, but could only assume that he'd been right in what he'd told West—the man simply hadn't had the courage to kill a priest and incur the wrath of God.

"Probably for the best anyways," Hawkeye said.

Dago nodded, his eyes closed. "I'm glad you're here, Hawkeye."

"Get some rest, babe. You've earned it. Maybe if they let you eat later, I'll bring you something."

"No cabbage." Dago said with a wry voice.

Hawkeye grinned and squeezed Dago's hand. "Deal. See you in a bit."

* * *

Henry surfaced later that afternoon as Hawkeye milled about the compound. He looked about as tired as Dago had and rubbed his forehead as they walked.

"Boy, what a mess this is," Henry grumbled as he strode with Hawkeye. "That Grayson clown went AWOL when he heard there was an investigation going on. We've interrogated the guards from the prison. Some of them won't talk, but the majority have said that they received orders from a General who never gave his name. They were told this was a top secret assignment, and that all of you men were dangerous criminals and threats to the American way of life. General Royce is in conference now trying to decide what to do. They're going to start interviewing all of you to try and clear the charges, but it isn't certain yet whether or not a trial will be held."

"How come you're roped into all of this, Henry?"

"Because Hammond and I went to the camp, and Royce and I witnessed West blow his brains out. Hammond's given his statement on what he saw and heard, but since it wasn't his men in trouble, they don't need him here like they need me." Henry sighed. "Have you been by to see Dago Red? How's he doing?"

"He woke up for a few minutes when I stopped by earlier. He said he only remembers bits and pieces of what happened. I didn't fill him in on the missing parts."

"Probably for the best."

"Henry, I think you should call in a shrink or something to talk to Dago." Hawkeye said with seriousness. "Maybe someone from his club—you know, another priest or something. I'm worried about him. The things he went through…you weren't there to see him, Henry. He started questioning whether or not God actually exists. I mean, you know _I_ don't believe in God, but we're talking about Dago here."

Henry's mouth pulled into a tight line. "I'll have someone from the vicar's office go over and visit with him. How about you, Hawkeye? If you need to talk to someone…"

"Nah, I'm okay. It was hell, but it's over. Justice was served when West shot himself. I'm only sorry I wasn't the one to put the bullet between his eyes."

Henry patted his back. "Yeah, you and me both. Listen, they've granted everyone phone privileges. If you want, you can call your wife. They've asked that you not discuss the details of the situation though."

Hawkeye nearly swooned at the thought of getting to actually talk to his wife. Phone calls to and from home were rare. Beyond rare. He couldn't remember ever talking to Mary or the boys since he'd been in Korea. Letters, of course, but their actual voices… "How long are we limited to?"

"Ten minutes." Henry replied. "Make the most of them."

* * *

Mulcahy stared up at the ceiling in the infirmary. The last week seemed like some horrible nightmare. Had it not been for his wounds and weakened state, he might believe it had never happened. He still couldn't believe a vast majority of it, but supposed that, perhaps, that was normal.

"Good afternoon, Father Mulcahy." A man's gentle voice broke Dago's reverie and he dropped his gaze to see an older man in an officer's uniform standing at the foot of his bed. The man was tall and solid, with very thin gray hair and a short gray mustache. A row of service ribbons were pinned above the left breast pocket, and each notched lapel bore a silver U.S. pin and a cross. Two silver stars graced the top of each of his shoulders.

Dago recognized the man right away as Major General Roy Parker, the Army Chief of Chaplains. He jerked upright in the bed, immediately regretting the automatic response and groaning slightly in pain as he offered a salute. "Forgive me, sir; I would stand but…"

The older man laughed gently and seated himself in the chair that Hawkeye had vacated earlier. "At ease, Father. Word's been getting around about the ordeal you and some of the other boys have been through…I thought maybe I should come by and see how you were doing. It must have been quite an experience."

"Yes…it was quite unbelievable. I still can't quite wrap my mind around it all."

"Understandably." Parker said kindly, folding his hands together and leaning towards Dago, his eyes kind and unassuming. "If you would like to talk about what happened, John, I would be more than happy to listen. It might help you to make sense of it."

"I wish I knew where to start." Dago told him, absently rubbing the peeling skin of his forehead.

"How about the beginning. How did you come under suspicion in the first place."

"Well, I wasn't under suspicion, initially. It was Hawkeye—Captain Pierce—that Colonel Grayson was investigating. I didn't know that right away of course; the colonel simply expected me to tell him everything I knew about anyone in the camp that might be 'unpatriotic.' I understand the treat of communism to the American government, but I couldn't in good conscious betray any of the men or women I serve with. We've all said a negative thing or two about this war, and those who were drafted are angry about being here, but none of them are communists or traitors. It wasn't right for me to give up anything they might have said to me, or anything I might have overheard—seal of confession or not."

"You seem strongly convicted about that decision not to betray anyone in your unit," The man said gently. "Would you, knowing everything that happened as a result of that stance, follow that same course of action?"

Dago thought for a long moment. "Yes. I absolutely would."

"And it was your resistance that led to your arrest."

"It was. Colonel Grayson was a volatile man, and become quite physical when he realized I would give him nothing on Hawkeye or the others in camp. He tried to beat a confession out of me, and when I still refused to speak, he sent me along with Hawkeye to the Freedom Camp."

"Tell me what happened there, John."

Dago told him about how they'd arrived just before lunch that first day, and how they'd been sent out that afternoon to work. He described the physical and mental drain of the long hours of labor, and how Hawkeye's good intentions to get him bandages for his hands had somehow led to West giving him 50 lashes and shutting him away in the hole.

"I have never been more frightened in my entire life," Dago's voice shook with the admission and there was a faraway look in his eyes as he relived the moment in his mind. "I remember screaming in terror…so certain I was going to die. I remember pouring myself into prayer, begging for mercy, for comfort, for some sign that God had not abandoned me… and I remember feeling this…pit…this void inside of me. I was hollowed out of everything—emotion…faith—there was nothing. I couldn't understand how God could have ignored my cries for help. I was so angry…so devastated…"

"How did you cope?"

"Not well. Part of me started wondering if there truly is a God, the other part was ashamed for such thoughts, and still another part of me was so angry. Angry at God, and angry at myself for not being of stronger faith. I'm a priest…without my faith in God, what good am I? How can I expect to lead others to the Light?"

"Are you still plagued with such thoughts?"

Again Dago remained silent as he considered the question. "Yes and no. I still feel that my faith is not what it was, and I worry what that has done to me and my ability to minister to others."

"If faith was static, we would never grow. We would never be able to walk in another man's shoes and understand his plights and his journeys. How can you expect to lead a man with no faith to the Lord if you have never known what it is like to not believe or to question His existence? Only God can say why you endured such a trial, John, but the Bible tells us that our faith is to be put to the fire so that we know what we are truly made of."

Dago felt his eyes sting with tears. He had considered this experience a possible test of his faith, and if it were, he was truly ashamed with himself. "I fear I failed miserably if this was a test."

"Perhaps," Parker shrugged. "But perhaps not. God knows your heart, John. We have all been angry with God; I myself have often asked Him to reveal to me why things happened in such a way. But, I see you now; and I see a man of faith who has been shaken and changed—yes—but not necessarily changed for the worse. You can take what has happened to you and let it drag you down, or you can pull yourself up from the ashes and rebuild a stronger foundation in which to serve Him."

Dago felt empowered and humbled by the man's observation and encouragement. He had been so narrow sighted that he had only been able to see the negatives of the situation and his faults in the matter. He hadn't been able to see how this could have changed him for the better. The chief of chaplains stayed a while longer and prayed with Dago for strength, for guidance, for forgiveness and mercy, and for healing—physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. When the man left, Dago felt renewed and nearly whole again. He knew that a major part of moving on from this experience would be to forgive Grayson and West for their treatment, but he wasn't quite at that point yet. There was still much prayer and reflection needed before he would be there.

* * *

"I love you, too." Hawkeye said into the phone receiver as he wiped his eyes with his fingertips. "Say hi to Dad for me."

As he and Mary said their tearful goodbyes, Hawkeye hung up the phone. Ten minutes to call home had been more than he'd ever dreamed of getting, and yet it certainly wasn't enough. He'd been able to talk to his wife and two young sons, but he wanted more. It made him ache for Crabapple Cove and the comforts of his home and family.

Mary had been relieved to hear that he'd been released from the prison camp, and had bawled for half the conversation, Tommy had simply asked when he'd be coming home and if he'd gotten him any presents, and Charlie had told him about the tooth he'd lost the day before and how the tooth fairy had left him a whole quarter. It had been the highlight of Charlie's life, as far as the child was concerned and it filled Hawkeye's heart with a mixture of joy and sadness. How he longed to be there.

Hawkeye wandered through the compound, reflecting on his family, when he remembered Dago. He quickly turned in the direction of the infirmary, eager to see a familiar face, and was just in time to see Dago shaking hands with an older man, who turned and left the chaplain's bedside. The two men's eyes met and the older man nodded and smiled to Hawkeye before continuing on his way. Hawkeye headed over to Dago's side and took up the seat.

"Who was that?"

"The Chief of Chaplains." Dago told him. "He came by to see how I was doing."

"How are you doing?" Hawkeye asked curiously, knowing the other man had been here probably because Hawkeye had nudged Henry about it.

"Better." The priest admitted with a soft smile.

"Good." Hawkeye smiled in return. "They gave us all a ten minute phone call…I just got off the phone with my wife and kids."

"I can imagine how relieved they were to hear from you."

"Yeah, and I can't tell you how good it felt to talk to them."

"I'm sure." The chaplain fell quiet for a long moment before he gave Hawkeye a peculiar look. "Hawkeye…the thing that happened in the hole…"

"Yeah?"

"I…I'm still not sure what to think or feel about that. I understand you were trying to take my mind off of everything, but why _that_ approach?"

"It was the only thing I could come up with at the time." Hawkeye admitted with a shrug. "It was getting hard to think, so I knew I couldn't talk you down the way you'd talked me down from panic, and _I_ know how good it feels to get off… So, to me, it seemed like the best option."

"I suppose I should thank you, oddly enough, but I simply can't reconcile that experience with everything else."

"I know you think all that kind of stuff is a sin, Dago, but don't you think God would make an exception given the circumstance in which it happened? If nothing else, tell him I made you do it. I didn't really give you a choice in the matter."

"I could have stopped you."

"Could you have?" Hawkeye asked seriously. "You tried to tell me no, I ignored you. There was no way you could have physically overpowered me."

Dago considered that for a moment. "I suppose you're right."

"Look, don't beat yourself up over it. It was an extreme situation. As they say, drastic times call for drastic measures."

"I suppose you're right about that, too. But…well…what happens now that I know what it feels like? I have abstained from sex and masturbation my entire life."

"How can you go back to the farm now that you've seen Paris?" Hawkeye smirked, knowing what Dago was getting at. "You're asking the wrong person, babe. I'd tell you there's nothing wrong with a little self-abuse."

Dago looked slightly uncomfortable and still uncertain, but he said nothing.

"If it happens that you find yourself in that predicament…come find me, okay?" Hawkeye offered. "I'll help you think of some way to take your mind off it."

The chaplain blushed furiously, averting his eyes. "Thank you, Hawkeye."

"Don't mention it." Hawkeye smirked in amusement.

"I thought I might find you up here, Pierce," Henry's voice said from just behind the doctor. Both men looked up at their commanding officer, who looked from Hawkeye to Dago. "Padre, it's good to see you awake."

"Thank you, Colonel. It's good to be seen, I think."

"I should say so. How do you feel?"

That seemed to be the only question people could ask Dago, but he found it was nice that the others seemed to care. "Much better, though I think I could stand a solid meal. The IV isn't doing much for me."

Hawkeye and Henry both chuckled, but it was Henry that spoke. "I'll see what I can do for you, Padre. Pierce, I think General Royce and his panel are just about ready for you if you have the time. The sooner the better; I need my best cutter back in camp. We've been lucky not to have heavy casualties while you were gone, but I don't want to chance it much longer. Not with both of us here in Seoul."

"Sure thing, Henry. Dago, I'll stop by later."

Dago nodded and watched the doctor head off towards the door, listening to his whistle as it faded off down the corridor. "Hawkeye's in good spirits. That's comforting."

"I think talking to his wife had a lot to do with that," Henry said as he sat by the chaplain. "Listen, Padre, I want to say how sorry I am that this happened to you both. I feel somewhat responsible; like I should have done more to protect you and Pierce from the interrogation by Colonel Grayson."

"There's nothing you could have done, Henry. And placing yourself between us could have landed you in the same situation. I'm just grateful you were able to get us out of there—to get all of us out of there. Some of those men had been there so long. I don't know how they survived it. Well…actually, I do. They didn't have Hawkeye with them."

Blake laughed softly, knowing the priest was jesting, and patted Dago's knee through the white bed sheet. "Pierce really can't help himself, can he?"

"He means well." Dago said with fondness.

"Well, I hope this experience has taught him that there are consequences to the things he says and does. Maybe we'll see a few less pranks from him."

"I wouldn't wish that on him, Henry."

"Heck, maybe you're right." Blake said, adjusting his glasses. "Well, I just hope he tones it down a little."

The two men shared a quiet laugh, before Henry looked at Dago with a solemn expression. "What is it, Henry?"

"General Royce is going to want to get your account of what happened this past week," Henry told him. "Pierce told me that your memory is a bit fuzzy on some of the events that happened prior to your arrival here. I wasn't going to tell you about it, but…well, I think you should have a clear understanding of the lengths West was willing to go to ensure that word didn't get out about his little camp."

Dago sat forward, intently. "I'm listening."

"The guard that brought you in turned himself over to the MP's, and told us the story of what exactly transpired. He said that West had locked you and Hawkeye together in what they called the 'hole' for three days. When he finally released you, you were hovering on death's doorstep—dehydrated, practically starved. He told me that you weren't the first to wind up in that condition, but rather than provide aid, West had given orders for the guard to take each man to a mass grave site he had dug, and put a bullet in their skull. West intended for the guard to do the same with you, but you were the first priest to end up in that position and the guard simply couldn't pull the trigger when the time had come. He told us he'd rather spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth than to go to Hell for killing a man of God."

The bits and pieces Dago remembered suddenly became clearer. He remembered Hawkeye putting him in the jeep, demanding to know where he was being taken, before telling Dago that everything would be alright. He remembered being woken up by the guard talking to himself and yelling at the heavens, as the young boy waved his pistol around wildly. Dago had still been in the jeep, but he'd turned his head to see a large crater dug into the ground, and a dozen or so rotting corpses laying in the pit. He knew he must have made a noise of fright because the boy had turned on him, pointing the gun at him, his hand shaking violently as he tried to summon the courage to take Dago's life, but he had fallen to his knees in the dirt, sobbing. Dago had lost consciousness again at that point and could only assume that that had been when the guard had brought him to HQ. He quietly thanked God for protecting him from that fate. "What happened to West? Has he been arrested?"

"When we showed up to arrest him, we found him with his gun turned on Hawkeye. He was in a state of panic, and when we told him to lower his weapon, he turned the gun on himself. He died instantly from a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

Dago closed his eyes, trying not to envision the gruesome thought. "I'm sure there is a special place in Hell for him."

As a moment of silence passed between them, Henry felt uncertain. "Should I have told you all of this?"

"Despite the fact that I realize how very close to death I came to last night…yes. It fills in the blanks for me and helps make sense of what I do remember."

Henry patted Dago's knee again. "Rest up, Padre. If you need anything, I'll be around."

"Thank you, Colonel."

Once alone, Dago closed his eyes, trying not to think of what could have been. Though he had enjoyed the visits throughout the day, he suddenly felt very drained. Settling back in the bed, the chaplain closed his eyes, once again thankful that he was here and he was safe, as were all the others.

* * *

The following morning, Hawkeye had shown up with a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice for Dago. Under his arm were a shower kit and a clean uniform. Hawkeye took the liberty of removing the IV and plasma needles from Dago's arms, placing a cotton ball and Band-Aid over the puncture marks before he handed the priest the breakfast.

"It's not cabbage stew, but it'll have to do." Hawkeye teased. "Eat slowly."

Dago nodded and spooned the first bite of oatmeal into his mouth. It was warm and sprinkled with cinnamon, the way his mother had made when he'd been a boy. Dago closed his eyes as he savored the flavor, letting it slide down his throat. "Oh, thank you, Hawkeye…this is wonderful."

"It's passable." Hawkeye said as he sat down.

Dago shook his head, "It's much more than passable."

"I spoke with the doctor that runs this joint," Hawkeye told him. "After breakfast, you've been cleared to check out. I thought you might want to get a shower and a shave. Oh, and your tags."

Dago watched Hawkeye reach into his break pocket and retrieve a set of dog tags and a cross on a long chain. His cross. Hawkeye slipped them over Dago's head as if he were placing a medal around his neck and the priest smiled at the familiar tinkling of the metal as it settled in the middle of his chest. "They almost become part of you, don't they?"

"I guess they kinda do," Hawkeye said as he sat back. "Now if we can just scrub you clean, you might almost look presentable."

The chaplain chuckled. "You don't think I'd look distinguished with a beard?"

Hawkeye cocked his head and looked at him appraisingly. "No. It doesn't suit you. You're too clean. And it makes you look older than you really are."

Dago stroked the scraggly hair on his cheeks and chin. "I suppose I have to agree. I haven't exactly seen myself in a mirror, but I'm sure I must look a fright."

Hawkeye filled Dago in on how his interview with Royce had gone and all the questions he'd been asked. As was typical, Pierce's reputation had preceded him, and he'd been lectured about appropriate military behavior. After promising to behave himself as any respectable captain of the army would, Peirce had been cleared and dismissed, free to return to the camp.

"I'd like to wait until our chaplain is cleared, if it's all the same." Hawkeye had asked. "I got him into this mess, it's only fair that I see him through it."

They had granted this request, saying that they would speak to the priest as soon as Mulcahy was ready. While Hawkeye was certainly not eager to return to an OR full of broken bodies, he was eager to get back to the Double Natural with Trapper, Duke and the others...which was part of the reason Hawkeye wanted to get Dago up and about. The sooner the priest was on his feet, the sooner they could both be cleared and headed home.

When Dago had finished his oatmeal and orange juice, Hawkeye rubbed his hands together. "How 'bout that shower?"

Dago nodded eagerly, sliding out of the bed. His arm and leg muscles were still sore from the weeks' worth of abuse, but he felt stronger than he had in days. Hawkeye found a hospital robe and tossed it to Dago, then carried the clean uniform and shower kit as he led the chaplain to the nearest shower.

The priest stood under the warm shower spray for a long moment, reveling in the fact that it didn't reek of sulfur. He picked up the soap and scrubbed from head to toe, mindful of his still mending nose. Once rinsed, he lathered his face with shaving cream and began to shave off the week-old whiskers. Finally, he picked up the small bottle of shampoo and lathered it through his dirty, oily hair, rinsing his entire body until the water ran clear, then repeating the entire process again until he felt like he could squeak from being so clean.

Wrapping up in a thick towel, Dago carefully dried himself off, running a comb back through his hair, then pulled on the clean uniform. He looked at himself fully in a mirror for the first time in a week. He had lost weight, but had gained a bit of muscle in his arms and shoulders. Other than the bruise across the bridge of his nose and the healing cut on his lip, Dago supposed he only looked marginally worse for wear given the circumstances. He knew his back was still bruised and cut from the lashes several days ago, but even that was improving.

Dago left the showers, finding Hawkeye leaning against the wall nearby, shaking his hand back and forth as if he were about to roll a set of dice. He grinned as he spotted the chaplain and gave a whistle. "Almost didn't recognize you. Here, I found something for you."

Hawkeye opened the palm of his hand to reveal two lapel pins in the shape of silver crosses. Dago watched as the doctor pinned the crosses on him and smiled as he suddenly felt whole again. "Thanks."

"Sure." Hawkeye paused and shuffled the dirt between them with his toe. "If you're ready to give your recount of the week's events, they're waiting for you… With any luck we could be back to the 4077th before supper."

Dago took a deep breath and nodded. "I suppose now's as good a time as any."

"I'll be waiting for you."

The chaplain headed off towards where Hawkeye instructed him to go and soon found himself sitting before several high-ranking officers, including the Judge Advocate General and Henry Blake. He felt sweat beading at his hairline, and had to remind himself that these men weren't going to harm him as Grayson and West had. With some effort, he answered their preliminary questions without too much of a quake in his voice, then told them everything he remembered just as it had happened.

When he'd reached the end, the other men sat staring at him strangely. General Royce peered at him over the top of his reading glasses. "On behalf of the United States and the Armed Forces, let me extend my most sincere apologies, Father. I want to assure you that the responsible parties, when we discover who is behind this, will pay a hefty price for their crimes. Let the record state that on this day, Father John Patrick Mulcahy, Chaplain, has been cleared of all charges relating to conspiracy and is no longer under suspicion of communist activity. You may return to your unit as soon as you're ready."

Dago blinked, almost feeling as though he'd missed something. That was it? Apologies were all well and good, but where was the hammer of justice? West might be dead, so no charges could be brought on his head, but surely there was something that could be done to ensure that this type of unwarranted cruelty would never occur again. A simple 'I'm sorry' just didn't seem like enough in this case. He felt incensed, but he held his tongue. It would do no good to fall to pieces now that he and the others were free and clear. He would have to entrust the serving of justice to God.

Still…it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

Hawkeye, Dago and Henry had all left HQ together after lunch, with Hawkeye behind the wheel and Henry and Dago holding on for dear life. A mile out from the Double Natural, Hawkeye began to lay on the horn, and by the time they rolled in the camp, the entire personnel was there, cheering wildly. Trapper, Duke and several of the nurses swallowed up Hawkeye, but it was Painless and Bandini who came over and offered their hands to help Dago from the jeep.

"It's good to have you back, Dago Red." Painless said, dragging Dago into a fierce hug and clapping him hard on the back. Dago winced, but bit back a cry of pain, blinking away the tears that stung his eyes as fire lit up along his back.

Thankfully the others that greeted him merely shook his hand, and the fire gradually began to die out. The two of them were swept into the mess tent, where word had obviously preceded their arrival, and a feast of roast beef and mashed potatoes had been prepared, and a party was to follow to celebrate their safe return. The tables were arranged in a long U-shape with Dago and Hawkeye side-by-side at the head.

"Y'all listen up now, ya hear?" Duke said, clinking his glass with a fork. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the young surgeon. "Now, it's been real tough without Hawkeye and Dago Red-o but I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say it's nice to have you fellas back here where you belong. We're glad y'all made it back here in one piece."

"What was it like?" One of the nurses called from somewhere near the back.

"What was it like?" Hawkeye asked, not sure how to answer that question. He looked at Dago briefly and saw a pair of azure eyes staring back at him on either side of a broken nose. "It was hell. That's the only way to describe it."

Hawkeye's failure to crack a joke or downplay the seriousness of the situation brought an uncomfortable air to the room that only dissipated when Trapper told the others to stop hounding them with questions. Dago sat quietly next to the doctor, eating and drinking with some greed, and noticing that Hawkeye also seemed to be refraining from saying much. When the party started after the meal, Dago stayed for a round of drinks, then excused himself. He was still far too exhausted and far too sore to exert himself more than was absolutely necessary.

He returned to his tent for the first time in over a week and looked around at the familiarity of it. His Bible was laying open on his desk, exactly where he had left it. His purple stole hung from a nail beside the door of the tent. His bed was neatly made, his clothes still in his footlocker. It was as if time had frozen here, unaware of the chaos that had happened beyond the tent flaps. He felt safe knowing that this was _his_ tent, and the things in here were _his_ things, but he also felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness as he stood there in the middle of the small room. For a week, damn near every time he'd turned around, Hawkeye had been there, watching over him in some capacity. Now, though there was no real danger at the 4077th—at least not the kind of danger he'd just experienced at the Freedom Camp—Dago knew that there would be no one watching out for him. He would fade into the background as he had been before Grayson had shown up. He would be acknowledged and spoken to, mocked and teased in good fun, but when it came down to it, no one would ask him how he was doing, no one would care if he was eating enough, drinking enough, or sleeping enough.

He supposed that would be alright. He'd grown accustomed to being next to invisible, and now that he'd spent a week at the top of West's punishment list, he would be glad to get out of the limelight. He'd never enjoyed being the center of attention, anyway. Still, though, a little company time and again wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Dago sighed and sat down on the edge of his bunk, leaning down to unlace his boots when there was a soft knock on the door. He glanced up, surprised. "Come in?"

The door creaked open and Hawkeye stepped in, his hands in his pockets. "I saw you leave."

"I'm still feeling a bit tired; I didn't want to overdo it." Dago explained, then found himself adding. "It feels strange to be back here. They're never really going to understand how bad it was. I keep finding it hard to believe we were only gone a week."

"I know," Hawkeye said, moving over and sitting next to Dago on the bunk. "I know they all mean well, but I feel really pissed off at Trap and Duke for wanting to throw us a party. Don't they know what happened? Don't they know what West did to us and the others?"

"No," Dago told him bluntly. "And if they did, I'm not sure they'd understand. They might feel bad for us, angry even, but you and I still can't believe it, Hawkeye…how can we expect them to?"

"I thought I'd be happy to be back here…but now that I am…I dunno. I guess I am happy, but at the same time…I'm not."

"I know what you mean. Just before you got here, I was thinking that it feels like nothing changed here in our absence." Dago said. "But you and I have changed. We experienced something that is going to affect us for the rest of our lives. It's going to take time to pick up where we left off."

Hawkeye took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through his lips. "So what do we do until then?"

"The best we can," Dago offered with a shrug. "And if nothing else, we always have each other to turn to."

Hawkeye's lip corners curled slightly upwards and he cast a sideways glance at the priest. "Especially when certain thoughts start to plague you."

Dago narrowed his eyes at the doctor, but the amused expression on Hawkeye's face was infectious and he found himself laughing slightly as he shook his head. "You're impossible, Hawkeye Pierce."

"Impossible or Ingenious?" Hawkeye teased, draping his arm around Dago's shoulders. "We're like brothers now. Bonded by blood…and semen."

The priest made a noise of disgust and threw Hawkeye's arm off. "Get out before I start to regret my decision to defend you to Grayson."

Hawkeye laughed, standing up and ruffling Dago's hair. The chaplain swatted at his hand.

"I mean it!" Dago told him, thrusting a pointed finger towards the door. "Out!"

"Alright, alright… I'm going." He paused near the door and gave Dago a serious look. "Honestly, babe…if you need anything."

The chaplain smiled softly despite his irritation. "The same goes for you. My door is always open…except for right now."

Hawkeye snorted a laugh and bid the priest goodnight. Dago stared after him for a long moment, then took a ragged breath. Suddenly the loneliness seemed to dissipate and a sense of comfort gradually settled in.

They would get through this; together.

* * *

FIN

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed! - RW


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